


Bad Blood

by stxrmborn



Category: Titans (Comics), Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cults, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Heavy Angst, Jewelry, Magical Artifacts, Original Character(s), Partnership, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Tension, Workplace Relationship, and then like short smut AGAIN I'M SORRY, basically some good ass enemies to lovers with angst, i guess it's technically workplace relationship??? idk, literally so much tension i'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 60,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22618705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stxrmborn/pseuds/stxrmborn
Summary: Detective Iris Kingsley didn't really like working with others. She was independent, calculated and focused. Her veins were filled to the brink with nicotine and black coffee. She was totally satisfied with working alone, and this was probably why every boss of hers seemed to quit. But then, the department hires Detective Dick Grayson, and Iris thinks she's finally found someone at least partly similar to her. It was astounding — truly.Iris wants nothing to do with him though. She's perfect with staying in her lane, remaining separate from him, even when he tries to make an effort to socialize and include her, but Iris doesn't need him. She doesn't like him. He's too cocky and frankly, she doesn't like that her boss asked her to refer to him as Dick, instead of Richard. She hoped he'd leave by the end of the year.And then, something astronomical occurs. In a world where Iris Kingsley's life is planned out to the absolute second, the unexpected happens, and Dick Grayson is suddenly the only person she trusts. It was time to let the bad blood dry.Who else are you supposed to call when you're given an ancient relic necklace and your hands start to light up?
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 59





	1. PROLOGUE

#### PROLOGUE

##### FATE

#####  **__________________________**

**IRIS** Kingsley wasn't a hero.

Truthfully, she was never going to be a hero. That just wasn't in the cards for her, and she didn't want it anyways. She wasn't born on a different planet. She didn't grow up with an impending destiny. She never even fell into a pool of radioactive waste. (A pity.)

Iris Kingsley was a closed-off, stubborn human being. You know, that girl who always sat in the back of the classroom, spoke to nobody, and hardly lifted her pen from a notebook as the teacher droned on and on about a subject no one cared about. And she was content with that kind of status. She couldn't — and _wouldn't_ — be deterred from the path she set out for herself.

Although, sometimes heroes are made of us. Sometimes, we can't choose our own destiny. For someone like Iris, an avid planner and professional Know-It-All, she would've run away the second she knew what the future held for her. Perhaps, she would've never moved to Michigan in the first place, or taken the job as second lead detective at Detroit PD. If she just would've known ... the possibilities are endless. Maybe we never would have ended up here.

But fate's a bitch, _right_? No matter how many times Iris did her best to run away from a problem, she would've ended here. Destiny isn't handed to many, but fate is bestowed upon everyone. Iris Kingsley was always meant to grow up normal, with a normal human family, and a normal human life. Maybe not _so many_ normal friends – who needs shit people when you have yourself to take care of? – but it was all relatively _human_. That is, until, fate began to tug on her strings.

**THIS ISN'T AN ORIGIN STORY.**   
**IT'S AN AWAKENING.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Bad Blood! This is a fanfiction originally posted on my Wattpad account (@stxrmborn) that I decided to post on here as well. Even though I always get nervous writing for new fandoms, I really enjoy writing Bad Blood and Iris' relationship with Dick, and I hope you guys like it as well! Again, I am VERY new to writing DC (I grew up on it, but I wasn't very deep into it as kid), so things might be inaccurate. Just bear with me. This story is about Dick in the "Titans" TV show on DC Universe, but it takes place BEFORE SEASON 1, so that leaves room for me to play around with the canon.
> 
> If you also would like to read this on Wattpad, here's the link: https://www.wattpad.com/story/201527728-bad-blood-%E2%94%81-dick-grayson. (There is also a cast listing, playlist and graphic gallery there, if you're interested!)


	2. MR. POSSIBLE PORN STAR

#### CHAPTER ONE

##### MR. POSSIBLE PORN STAR

#####  **__________________________**

**IRIS** didn't like change. It meant a new beginning. It meant starting over, or learning something all over again. Time was always of the essence and she hated to waste it. Change was such a nuisance. She stuck to a rigid schedule, unwilling to break, which allowed her some sense of structure in her life.

The rest of the world liked change. We got a new president every four years. With new seasons came new weather, and don't forget about daylight savings time. Obstacles constantly littered everyone's daily lives. Change was real and unyielding, and most humans could adapt to it.

Not Iris Kingsley, though. Definitely not her. She tried to not let anything – or _anyone_ – lead her off her own schedule. She woke up every weekday to a hot cup of coffee. (She grounded the beans herself.) It was custom to drink it out on the small deck of her apartment, no matter how cold it was or how dirty she let the chairs get. She liked to sit in one of her old beach chairs and sip casually from the mug, a cigarette in her other hand. Nicotine gave her breakfast a bit more flavor.

She had to dress herself after. As much as Iris would like to sit on that dirty ass porch for hours upon end, she liked to work. She liked to help people. It was one of the many reasons why she wanted to become a detective. She always liked being in the know, and never permitted herself to be kept in the dark. That just wasn't in her nature.

After adorning her usual gray pantsuit and a white dress shirt, Iris would quickly tug a brush through her matted waves, allowing the crazy Detroit wind to take care of the rest, before running out the door. On a good day, she wouldn't run into any of her neighbors. They just slowed her down. If she managed to get to the office on time – which she _usually_ did, depending on the train schedule – the rest of the day would be smooth sailing: countless hours spent on paperwork and research, listening to her cube mate, Charlie, gush about the slim pickings they had for eye candy at the station, and maybe – if she found the time – a moment to chill out and eat lunch. Just one little mishap in that schedule could shift her entire day off. Iris was an avid planner, but she never knew what to do if something threw her off. Sometimes, an obstacle made her act like a deer in the headlights, and she'd have to deal with change all over again.

You can't imagine her surprise when she found out her old boss, Marcus Newton, gave his notice only a day in advance, and she'd be receiving a new lead detective in just a few days.

It wasn't _too_ much of a shock, if she were being honest. Iris heard a few rumors that Marcus was cheating on his wife with his twenty-one-year-old intern. Charlie also said that his hand once brushed against her behind, and she was pretty sure that her ass "wasn't the first one he ever fondled." The point was – there were a million reasons why Marcus had left his high position so abruptly, but Iris would never know the _real_ reason why. He was probably halfway across the country by now, and she hardly ever said a word to him. He was her boss, but she made it pretty clear on day one that she did her own thing and she didn't need his help with anything. Her tone had been nasty and passive-aggressive. He was practically scared shitless of her after that day, never questioning anything she did. Why do you think she was the only one allowed to smoke in their _smoke-free_ building?

As much as the mystery of Marcus' disappearance excited her – she'd _never_ have to see his beady eyes ever again! – Iris finally came to the conclusion that she _would_ be working with someone new soon. Change was imminent and left a sour taste in her mouth. Letting new people in was so exhausting.

So here she was now, with a boss that looked about the same age as her – _weirdly enough_ – and promising her that he wasn't interested in any kind of "boss to employee" relationship without even saying a word. It was exactly what she had wanted with Marcus, except now ... something was off. The guy hadn't even introduced himself on the first day. He simply walked in, met with the Chief of Police, and then never came out of his office. Iris wanted independence in the workplace, not to be _ignored_. Not to mention, he seemed to walk around the station like he owned the place. Cocky bastard.

Maybe she should be grateful that this happened. It's what she wanted, after all.

But ... could she _really_ trust that things would stay that way? I mean, how could she trust a guy that came in every morning with the same wrinkled dress shirt and a new coffee stain on his pants. Granted, sometimes she walked in the same way, but it was only from time to time. Don't get it twisted. Besides, his name was _Dick_ , too. Dick Grayson, to be exact. She did some research on the guy before he managed to wiggle his way into the station, but she hardly came up with anything. Amongst the plethora of Facebook profiles, and even some Pornhub accounts featuring the same name, she found an old circus act called, _the Flying Graysons_. She couldn't be too sure though if her new boss was connected to that, seeing as the family of acrobats stopped touring a long time ago. She also combed through those Pornhub profiles, watched a couple videos, just to make sure none of them were secretly her boss to be. For research purposes, _of course_.

 _He could be a porn star, if he wanted to_ , Iris supposed, eying the side of her boss' face from her cubicle across the room. Lucky for him, he was given an office, while Iris hadn't moved from her dinky cube for over three years. Every year, she hoped they'd _finally_ give her an office. She was the second lead detective after all. But it never came to be. There was always next year. Her eyes formed into slits as jealousy pooled into her stomach.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer, Kingsley."

Iris blinked, turning her head in the direction of the cubicle in front of her. Charlie McCarthy plopped down a pile of full manila folders onto her desk and released a sigh through her red lips. Iris noticed she had been coming in with more makeup recently, and styling her wild curls into a tamable bun. She wondered who Charlie was really trying to impress, but with her being an assistant to the new lead detective, A.K.A. Mr. Possible Porn Star, it wasn't that hard to guess.

"Shut up," Iris murmured, stubbing out the dying cigarette that once sat between her fingers. Smoke wafted into the air, but no one cast a glare in her direction. Everyone was used to the stench. Iris looked down and realized her nails needed a fresh coat of paint. The usual dark brown polish was chipping.

Charlie sat down in her cushioned chair, turning to look over her shoulder. "He's kinda dreamy, isn't he?" She asked, voice muffled by the hand she held near her mouth. Her chin rested delicately on her fist. Charlie received no answer, causing her to look over and see Iris typing away on her computer. "Hey! Are you listening?"

"Sorry, I usually drown out sappy, melodramatic bullshit," Iris muttered, turning back to her cube mate. "What were you saying?"

Charlie narrowed her eyes. "I was _saying_ that your new colleague is hot."

"– _And_ our new boss. He's not just a colleague."

"Tomato, tom _at_ o," Charlie scoffed, waving her hand around. "Doesn't matter what his title is. He's hot, and somehow you're _still_ going to neglect his existence. Pity."

Iris lifted her fingers off the keyboard, standing up to get a better view of her cube mate from behind the short wall. "For the record, he's neglected both of _our_ existences. He barely talks to you, and you're his _assistant_." She frowned, tilting her head in the direction of Dick's office. "And don't you think it's kind of unprofessional to be talking about _your superior_ like that?"

"Haven't _you_ ever heard of a thing called, 'office gossip?' God, you really need to live a little." The curly-haired girl shook her head and licked at her crimson lips. "Maybe you can help me get his attention more. That way I scratch your back, you scratch mine."

Iris cocked her head to the side. "And what do _I_ get out of that?"

"It'll help get you out of your comfort zone and you'll have my endless gratitude."

"Hmm ... sorry, I think working might be a better use of my time." Iris shrugged, causing Charlie to scowl in her direction. Looking off to the side, she noticed Dick leave his office and walk towards their cubicles, a folder in hand. "Here comes the Bachelor," she scoffed while plopping back down in her chair.

From the side of her cubicle walls, Iris paid close attention to the confident stride Dick Grayson used when he talked to lower-ranked colleagues. When he spoke with the chief, Mr. Angeles, she noticed that he tended to always cave into himself. His shoulders became hunched, and he did his best to meet Mr. Angeles' eye level, despite reaching his superior's height. But when Dick strode towards someone like Charlie – his pretty assistant who, _actually_ , knew more than any of these bobbleheads at the station – he was poised and assertive. He walked with a tiger's prowl. Iris rolled her eyes and went back to her own business.

A folder smacked against Charlie's desk. Both women instantly looked up, despite their better judgment.

"You forgot this one. Actually, it was my bad." Dick said, rubbing at his eyes. "I need all of Mr. Newton's past cases organized by date. That's the only way I'll be able to keep up with what's going on in this place and if I need to pick anything up."

Charlie nodded quickly. "Got it," she muttered. Her mouth opened again, but she could hardly get a word out. "I – um – is there anything else you need, Mr. Grayson?"

"No, nothing else." He turned on his heel to walk away, but not before reminding her with a tight frown. "It's Dick."

Iris snorted, eyes trained on the bright computer screen in front of her. However, it wasn't hard to feel the stare that was already burning holes into her forehead. She swallowed hard, lifting her grey irises up and over the cubicle wall, where Dick Grayson was glaring in her direction. Her breath hitched, but the sudden expression didn't bother her one bit. She wasn't scared of him, after all. Not like the rest of the officers in this place.

With a shake of his head, Dick spun back around and walked away. Charlie released a breath of relief that she didn't know she had been holding in. Iris laughed, a smile cracking at the edges of her lips. She hid it beneath her hand.

"You really got his attention there, huh?"

"Shut up."

#####  **__________________________**

The train rides home were always filled with a mix of characters. From wealthy businessmen to the homeless taking up three seats to sleep – Iris tried her best to ignore the bunch by shoving in a pair of earbuds and blasting the loudest music she could find. Sometimes, not even that could drown out the voices of the rambunctious crowds around her. She frequently saw an older man sit at the end of the cart, who laughed hysterically at random points during the ride. She couldn't stop herself from staring most of the time, until his eyes would finally land on her at the other end of the car.

Every day was so exhausting. Iris hardly ever wanted to put in the effort to cook dinner when she got home. Trudging up those stairs to her apartment was hard enough. (Fuck that building manager who refused to fix the elevator. It had been five months at this point.) Taking the three flights also meant that she had to converse with her neighbor, Joshua Zuma, who was recently – _somehow_ – always outside his apartment whenever she got home, and acted like it was a coincidence.

And there he was. As her foot crushed down on the last step of the carpeted stairs, Iris looked up to see Joshua sticking the key inside the lock of his front door. She eyed the unusual symbol he had hung on the door. It was made out of a dark, aging wood, showcasing some kind of strange lettering amongst a garden of vines and turquoise stones. She never quite knew what it meant, and never had the time to ask, nor did she really want to. Instead, Iris sent Joshua a fake smile and approached her own door.

She fumbled with her keys for a long moment, continuously tugging the strap to her briefcase over her shoulder. When she finally had the key in her hands, she heard Joshua speak up behind her: "Long night at the station?"

Iris lifted her head to the ceiling, releasing an inaudible groan. He asked her this almost every night. And then she would say –

"Long life." Iris looked over her shoulder to get a peek at his expression. His mouth was formed into a tight line, and he nodded his head at her reply.

"Anything you want to talk about?"

Iris finally spun around. That was a new response. Sure, Josh flirted with her from time to time, complimented her when she got a haircut, but somehow ... this new answer stunned her. She guessed that she wasn't used to exchanging more than ten words with him.

"I don't need a therapist," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

He flashed her a bright grin. Dark wefts of hair fell in front of his green eyes. His skin was warm, as if he was touched by the sun they barely got during this frigid autumn in Detroit. "Not a therapist," he admitted, like it wasn't obvious. Iris' frown deepened. "Just thought you'd want someone to talk to. I have a full bottle of merlot in my place, actually. I probably shouldn't drink it all myself."

Iris lifted her brow. "I don't need a date either," she laughed coldly, "and merlot is gross."

"Fair," he said, looking back to his key still sitting idly in the door. He lifted his hand from the knob and wiped the sweat on his pants. Josh swallowed hard, taking in her icy stare. "I bet it's really draining to be a detective."

"Which is why I need my beauty sleep," Iris replied, cutting him off the second she got the chance. Sending him another quick grin, Iris twisted her key and used her knee to forcibly kick the door open. She twirled her fingers in his direction and swiftly shut the door before he could continue talking. Josh was left in the silence of the hall.

He dragged a hand down his face, wishing life could be as easy as the stupid romance movies depicted them to be. The light above his head flickered in and out as he eyed the front of his door. Perhaps he _could_ finish that bottle by himself before he was called in tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOD I really do hate first chapters, but I tried my best with this to set up the world and give subtle hints to what's going to happen later on in the book. Just a reminder that this does take place before Season 1 of Titans, so it's going to focus on mainly Iris' story, as well as Dick's repression of the Robin identity. So yeah, Dick is the love interest and they're going to get together slowly, but this story is soley about Iris and what becomes of her future. Hope that sounds interesting enough lol


	3. OFFICE LINGO 101

#### CHAPTER TWO

##### OFFICE LINGO 101

#####  **__________________________**

**CASES** were usually just thrown her way. Iris had learned to adapt to an agenda: police get a call, write down the case, and Iris was the one to figure out the rest. From interviewing witnesses to research that had her up all hours of the night, she was used to a regular routine. She never really had to go out looking for cases, until today.

Iris bought the Detroit Free Press every Sunday morning. Eight o'clock sharp. There was usually a stand just a block from her apartment complex, so she didn't feel half as bad for walking to get the paper in her PJs. It was then, as she sat on her deck in the mere hours of the morning, a cigarette dangling in between her lips, that Iris began to notice a pattern. On the third page of the Free Press, squeezed in between the big story of the week and the sports section, was a few local news headlines that caught her attention. Over the past few weeks, Iris noticed that the paper had been reporting several break-ins involving antique shops.

It seemed normal at first. Antique shops were known to have valuable items hidden beneath their array of broken chairs and vintage knickknacks. But having three break-ins over just a few weeks involving a specific type of shop? That became suspicious. No one was calling in about them. No one had launched a full investigation. No one was even reporting about them, except for the tiny paragraph in the paper. Iris took it upon herself to figure out what was going on, despite not having any knowledge on the subject.

She supposed it would be easy. After a few interviews, swabbing one of the scenes for fingerprints, she assumed that she could find the culprits in no time. That was how she worked, after all. But Iris hardly cracked anything after a few days of research and countless hours spent working overtime. Every single place that had been broken into recently had closed down in fear, and now she barely had one witness to talk to.

 _There has to be a reason why it's so specific_ , she thought to herself while walking out into the frosty air for a smoke break. She did start to feel bad about smoking in the station after a while, even though she tried to be as discreet as possible. (It didn't help.) She tugged her black peacoat tighter around herself and lit the end of her cigarette, inhaling the deadly substance.

It could be worse. It could be _way_ worse. That's what she'd tell herself when she walked into the Jiffy Mart for the second time in a week to buy a pack of Newports. She could be addicted to coke, or something else really shitty.

"Nasty habit, huh?"

Iris wrinkled her nose and turned her head at the voice. Lifting a brow, she watched Dick Grayson stride towards her with a fresh cup of coffee in his hands. She noticed he left the office a lot to get constant refills from Jillian's Coffee right down the street. He lifted the cup to his lips and took a long sip before stopping right beside her, leaning against the brick wall of the police station.

"I prefer marijuana myself," he added.

She sent him a side-eyed glance before continuing to ignore his presence altogether. Iris took a step to the left, separating the two of them by a foot, but Dick didn't seem to mind. She inhaled and released a cloud of smoke from her mouth, choking on what was left of the oxygen in her shriveling lungs. She wiped the edge of her mouth and sighed into the wind.

"Why are you so interested in antique shop break-ins?"

She cast a glance in his direction again, grey irises burning into his caramel-colored stare.

"I saw the notes on your desk," he continued, pausing the sip he was about to take. The cup sat on the edge of his bottom lip. "No one has picked up that case in weeks. Do you really think it's _that_ important? There was a dead body found by the river the other day. Would've assumed that was more —"

"Why are you looking at my desk in the first place?" Her tone was cold and brash, but he hadn't been affected in the slightest. "Don't touch my shit."

Dick held up his hands. "I didn't touch anything."

Iris' eyes flickered to the ground for a short second. "Well –" She frowned and formed her lips into a tight line. "Don't look at my shit either."

He laughed, and just the sound made Iris' jaw clench. She didn't understand how she could dislike a person this much, and for some reason, she hardly knew _why_.

"It seems like you don't like me," he said over the raging wind.

Iris took a deep inhale and coughed the rest into her arm. "Oh, yeah?" She asked, standing up straighter. "What gave it away?"

Dick opened his mouth to say something, but no words fluttered out. He really didn't know _how_ to respond without looking like a dickhead, or simply a dumbass. Neither seemed like the easy way out of this conversation. He was kind of regretting that he started it in the first place.

"Listen," she exhaled, gesturing towards him with the end of her dying cigarette, "you can't just _walk_ around here like you own the place for two weeks and not even talk to your own partner. I like my independence as second lead – and _trust me_ – I wouldn't want it any other way, but you don't acknowledge anyone when you come into the station. I really don't like anyone here, but at least I'm not _rude_. That's office lingo 1-0-1, dipshit."

Dick's brow knitted together. "Didn't realize I was doing that in the first place –"

"Well, you _were_. You didn't even say hi to your team on the first day. This is _literally_ the most we've spoken in weeks." She took one last drag from the cigarette and threw it to the ground, stomping on it with the heel of her ankle boot. "Doesn't matter. I'm better on my own, and so are you. I usually work that way with my partner anyways. Let's keep it that way."

She moved past him, bumping his shoulder without even realizing it. And then, her feet weren't moving. She almost hurled herself on the ground from tripping over her own feet. _Wait_ – no, she hadn't tripped. She was being pulled backward by a hand clinging to the sleeve of her peacoat, dragging her stare towards him again.

Iris yanked her arm out of Dick's grip. For a second, she wondered if she should've left it there. She liked the way he held on with a purpose, but that thought filtered away moments later. " _What_ do you think you're doing?"

"Wait, wait," he interrupted, rubbing the end of his nose from the brutal chill, "the whole reason I came over here was to help you with whatever case you're working on. I know I shouldn't have snooped on your desk, but I was curious. Sue me." He shrugged. "It was wrong of me to act like that the first day. Like you said, we're _partners_."

Dick held out his hand. His skin was red and calloused from the cold weather. He really should wear gloves more.

"Truce?" He said, biting his lip.

Iris looked at his hand, and then back up to his eyes. They were almost like a honey gold, reminding her of the bright sun on a nice fall day: crisp, burning, and full of life. But there was a certain darkness within his stare. Amongst the pleading look and desperation, Iris wondered what kind of monster lurked beneath the surface of his bones. He was trying to be the nice guy. There were no nice guys in their profession. Everyone had skeletons in the closet.

"Thanks," she huffed, turning on her heel, "but no thanks."

#####  **__________________________**

Darkness crept over the sky like a heavy blanket. Iris hardly realized what time it was until she looked to the large window panel in front of the station and noticed the sun had set. She usually liked to leave around six to catch the six-thirty train home, but it looked like that wasn't happening today. She had been so caught up in her research that the hours began to blend together, and she now wondered if all days were going to be like this with her newest case.

She took a taxi home. It was dirty and smelled like sweaty socks. A string of turquoise beads hanging from the rearview mirror kept rattling. The driver sat through traffic while yelling at someone into his phone's speaker and Iris really questioned why these things cost so much. It wasn't like she was getting five-star service anyways.

In an effort to distract herself, Iris pulled up the book store on her phone. She didn't know how, but she somehow ended up on a book about the identification and values of antique jewelry and she locked her phone altogether. It wasn't good to let cases filter into your personal life, but she did it _all_ the time. It was _annoying_. She couldn't help but hyperfixate on a subject when she didn't know the answer to it. Everything always led back to the problem at hand.

Before she knew it, she was back at her apartment building and paying the driver an obscene amount of cash while he continued to holler at the poor person on the other end of his phone. He took the money without hesitation, though, and narrowed his eyes in her direction when she brought her hand away. Iris furrowed her brow at his quizzical expression, but he was already driving away before she could interrogate him.

Iris already felt like she needed a drink. After the countless hours spent on research to come up with nothing, as well as the ridiculous conversation she had with her lead detective, she was tired and ready to crack open that aged bottle of whiskey she kept in her liquor cabinet. Her feet sunk into the shit-stained carpet of the staircase that she heaved herself up every goddamn day. Her knees felt weak every time she crossed another stair, but she kept moving forward because that's just how Iris Kingsley was. Twirling her key ring around her finger, she found Joshua closing the door of his apartment, but ever so slowly, as if he was waiting for her by the doorframe.

His head popped out once he spotted her. Iris really didn't have time for this.

"You're back later than usual," he said flatly. "Long ni –"

"Yes, Josh, it was a long day and it's going to be an even longer night," she huffed, approaching her door. "Okay? That's all settled. Now we can both retire for the night."

Joshua leaned against the doorframe, a chuckle slipping out of his wide lips. He smiled as she fought to find her house keys around the ring. "I definitely know _now_ that you need someone to talk to." He lifted his hands up in surrender when she glared at him from over her shoulder. "Again, not a therapist. Just a nice neighbor."

Iris sighed loudly before spinning on her heel. She slammed her back against her locked door and crossed her arms. "It's nothing." Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, and she so badly wanted to open her mouth and spill it all: the stress, the anxiety, the knowledge, but why should she trust her weird, flirty neighbor so easily? It would be completely idiotic to tell him about all the juicy things going on in her life, no matter how good it would feel.

Maybe they should just fuck and get it over with. That was probably the worst way to deal with all the stress, but ... sometimes Iris liked a distraction.

 _No, bad idea_ , her conscious reprimanded. _You hardly like sex anyways._

Eventually, Iris came undone. A groan escaped her lips. "I just – I got a new boss and I don't really like him."

Joshua tilted his head to the side. "Why?"

"You know how, like, opposites attract?" Iris asked, and he nodded. "Well, people who are similar certainly do not."

He laughed, resting one hand on his doorknob. Iris noticed his muscles flex in the dim lighting. (Maybe he wasn't _that_ bad looking.) "Need someone to beat him up for you?"

Iris was surprised that she snorted, and put a hand in front of her mouth to cover it. She turned her head to the side for a moment and slowly met his eyes again. "Pretty sure I can do that myself, Josh." She held up her clenched fists. "I've had combat training."

"Of course, _you have_ ," he dragged out, lips quirked into a ridiculous smile. His grip on the doorknob tightened, but Iris tried not to notice. "Well, goodnight, Iris. It was nice to talk to you for more than two seconds."

She allowed one side of her mouth to turn upward. "You, too," she admitted, and it was the first kind of change that she didn't mind happening.


	4. VIGILANTES

#### CHAPTER THREE

##### VIGILANTES

#####  **__________________________**

**IRIS** had spent a week closely studying all the local news stations, just _waiting_ for one to pick up on the story about the antique shops, but none ever did. They were all obsessed with who killed who and what the President did now. It annoyed her to no end that her local news networks hardly reported shit on actual _local_ stories. She wasted so much time skimming through the bullshit stories, hoping that one channel would provide her with more evidence that she didn't have, but it all came down to nothing. She didn't even like the news anyways, weirdly enough.

But here she was, combing through the small amount of channels she had on cable _again_ , because Iris Kingsley really couldn't get a grip. Especially, when she was fascinated by something. (She really should work on that.) Her coffee grinder buzzed loudly in the background, crushing the beans down to soft, tiny flakes. Iris almost put on an old rerun of _Spongebob_ – because who doesn't love a classic, am I right? – but upon flicking to the next channel, she released an audible groan at the sight of the CBS News logo.

"Not this shit again," she mumbled, shutting off her bean grinder with a quick press of her finger.

But then she was hesitating, fingers brushing lightly over the pitcher containing her beans, as she narrowed her eyes at the news title on the screen: _MASKED VIGILANTE FIGHTING AGAINST DETROIT CRIMINALS_. Her stare shifted, flittering upward at the video playing above the title. The footage was practically black and white, with a dark figure running through the dimly lit streets of the upper east side, where all the rich families lived. You know, the type of people that could _afford_ to have a security camera and the only ones who would have a clip like this. The vigilante tore through the street on foot before they were chased down by a large van, and as soon as a person stepped out of the vehicle, the vigilante went on a rampage. Iris could hardly see a thing in the blurry video, besides the masked person completely beating the other man to shreds. It was _horrifying_. (But in a totally cool way, if she were being honest.)

The camera panned back to a female reporter standing in the harsh rain outside. "Police have yet to identify the masked vigilante, or speak with the public at all on this matter," the reporter spoke loudly over the storm.

"Yeah, that's because we haven't heard about it," Iris scoffed towards the TV screen.

"All the information we know is from what we can see happening in the security footage," the reporter went on, "and I think it's pretty clear to say, the masked stranger can fight. It seems he was being chased down by a pack of criminals locally known as the Crusaders, a group of brothers swarming the city streets for teen girls to traffic. The vigilante left the brothers unconscious and bloody, long enough for the police to find and arrest them. However, after not offering to work with authorities, Police Chief, Ivan Angeles, and his staff are now wondering if this could be the work of a violent sociopath. For CBS Detroit, I'm Liliah Puckett."

 _The Chief knows about this and hasn't said anything?_ Her thoughts ran wild with curiosity. _I wonder if we're going to have another one of those –_

The grinder began to buzz again, causing Iris to notice that she had accidentally pressed down on the button again. She almost jumped out of her skin before finally turning off the coffee grinder. "Nice job, Kingsley," she muttered to herself, lifting the pitcher off the sensor and pouring her freshly-ground beans into a tall, glass container. The news rattled on in the background, and Iris groaned under her breath.

"Enough of this shit," she huffed, picking up the remote that laid on the edge of her kitchen island. "The last thing we need is our very own Batman."

#####  **__________________________**

Lightning crackled throughout the sky that morning. Dark clouds hovered over the majority of Detroit, swirling and creating destructive patterns over their heads. Iris could hardly hear anything over the rumble of the train tracks. Even her earbuds were powerless against the thunder that pounded in the air, so loud that she almost questioned if it were right near her ears. It drowned out the manic elderly man that never stopped laughing. Lucky her.

She was late for work. When the rain was so bad, when the thunder and lightning cracks were so brash that you wondered if your ears were bleeding – somehow the DDOT stopped working. It always had something to do with flooding or the driver not being able to see well. Whatever it was, rainy days in Detroit were _outrageously_ inconvenient for Iris. She liked her schedule. She liked coming into work at the same time every single day, but it was difficult when she lived in a city that acted like the world was collapsing over a mere drop of water from the sky.

When she finally arrived at the station – thirty minutes past her usual time, might I add – she was greeted with a series of confused looks and judging eyes. No one expected Iris Kingsley to be late, and when she was, that meant the day was already going to be off to a bad start. She hurried over to her desk, shaking the rain off her soaked jacket before hanging it on a coat rack. She tried sitting down as quickly as possible to get back to her research, but that resulted in her almost tumbling off the desk chair. Charlie watched with a widened stare, perplexity hinted in her dark brown irises.

"Are you okay?" She asked, standing up and leaning over the wall that separated their cubicles.

Iris was frazzled. Her hair stuck up in all the wrong places and felt matted down by the water that leaked from her hood. Dark circles creased under her eyes – which wasn't uncommon on her, but they had never looked _that_ dark before. "Does it _look_ like I'm okay?!" She exclaimed, causing eyes to shift her way again. Iris caught their muddled expressions and sent each a glare.

"Well, no," Charlie replied, "but I thought that it wouldn't hurt to ask."

"I need a cigarette," Iris huffed, completely ignoring her coworker's comment. She ripped open one of her desk drawers where she usually kept a spare pack of Newports. But upon picking up the box and shaking it, she realized it was completely empty. Iris threw it back into the drawer and released a loud groan. "Of _fucking_ course."

She lifted her head again, taking in Charlie's perplexed stare. Iris noticed she went for a more subtle makeup style this morning. Pink lips that matched a soft mauve shadow on her lids. Iris ran a hand through her messy waves before resting her chin on her fists. "My train was late," she explained, "which means today is already off to a horrible start. I _hate_ being late."

"We _all_ know." Charlie shook her head. "It's not a big deal, Iris. No one's gonna care if you're late, besides Dick, but ... he hardly notices anyone around here."

Iris released a _humph_ while turning on her dinosaur of a computer. It was an old Dell system from 2011, so it wasn't _that_ old. (But still a dinosaur, you know?) With heavy eyes and a disappointed expression, Iris logged into her computer and tried ignoring the time stamp that was haunting her at the bottom of the screen.

Charlie started tapping the top of the cubicle wall aggressively. Iris swung her gaze up and narrowed her eyes. Charlie's head was turned in the other direction, veering towards Dick's office at the end of the hall. A large grin graced her lips. "Oh, my _god_ , Iris," she whispered – but quite _loudly_. "Jesus, how are you not seeing this?!"

"I don't have time to fuck around today –"

"Dick keeps staring at you."

Iris froze, eyes remaining on her bright computer screen. She didn't dare turn in Dick's direction, nor did she want to say a word. Charlie was continuously tapping at the wall, but Iris was drowning out the sounds, trying to focus on what she was here for: _to work_. And yet, her mind was going blank. Her next thought had vanished. She couldn't do a damn thing.

"I probably shouldn't be staring back like a crazed lunatic, huh?" Charlie giggled, looking back at her cube mate. She frowned when she realized Iris hadn't acknowledged the entire interaction. "Have you talked to him more?"

With a sigh, Iris pushed back on Charlie's hands resting on her cubicle. "Can you sit down and stop staring, _please_?" She whispered. "And _yes_ , we have spoken. But I made it pretty clear how things work around here, so he isn't going to be bothering me anytime soon."

Charlie's face fell. "You're really going to ignore the presence of one of your bosses _again_?"

Iris sent her a sarcastic smirk. "Yep," she replied, popping the _P_ for emphasis.

The other girl sighed, rubbing at her eyes in the most dramatic way possible. Sometimes, Iris wondered if Charlie was constantly practicing for a breakout role on _General Hospital_. "Well," Charlie huffed, running her hands down her skirt, "if you don't go in for the kill, then _I will_."

Iris raised a brow, allowing a soft chuckle to release from her lips. Charlie spun on the heel of her red bottoms, straightened her back, and began to stomp her way over to Dick's office. Iris peered over the wall of her cubicle just to watch, but found Charlie already making her way back to her desk. Her heels hurriedly clicked against the linoleum floors. Iris narrowed her eyes, and then glanced to the side.

Charlie hadn't gotten within ten feet of Dick's office, because he was walking over _to them_.

Or was it just for Charlie? She fucking hoped so.

His voice was loud enough to silence the ringing in her ears: "Iris."

 _Don't you dare look up. Don't you fucking look up!_ But there she was, lifting her chin in his direction, taking in his messy hair and dark circles that weirdly matched her own. Iris had never been so mad at herself for not simply listening to ... well, _herself_! His brow was bushy and furrowed. His taut frown turned into a tiny smile when she focused on him. Iris felt her whole body stiffen.

"So –"

"I was late, I know," she interrupted before gesturing to her monitor. "But I'm already back to work and I'll make up for my lost time. I hate tardiness, especially –"

Dick lifted his hands. "I didn't come over here to talk about your lateness." He turned around, scanning the station for any wandering eyes. "Pretty sure everyone here doesn't care."

Iris looked to her computer, and then back to him, growing silent. She licked her lips as a fresh wave of anxiety flooded through her veins.

"I came over here to – um –" He looked up at the ceiling, jaw clenching. Iris lifted a brow and followed his gaze. There was nothing up there. "I came to apologize."

Their stares met again. Iris narrowed her eyes. "For _what_?"

Dick rubbed a finger over his upper lip for a short second – but it felt like the longest of her life. "I think we got off on the wrong foot yesterday," he finally replied. "It was my fault. I went about talking to you the wrong way. I just wanted us to find some common ground. You know, as partners."

Iris met Charlie's eyes from over the cubicle wall. Her teeth grit as she turned back to him. "It's fine. Like I said, that 'common ground' shit really isn't my thing anyways."

"I know, I know," he said quickly. A soft huff escaped his lips, and he reached into his back pocket to retrieve something. When he brought it out, Iris realized it was a folded piece of paper. "This is for you."

After a moment of hesitation, Iris lifted her hand, fingers crackling through the wave of static in her ears, and took the paper from his calloused grip. She swallowed hard and glanced at him again, before finally opening the paper. It was a phone number.

_Are you shitting me?_

"It's my number."

Charlie gasped and accidentally flung her pen across the floor. Dick knitted his brow together as she collected the pen, exclaiming, "False alarm! Just a pen on the loose!"

Iris had been raising a brow in Charlie's direction, and then casually looked back down at the number written in thick, black Sharpie. She met Dick's gaze again. "Yeah, I can see that."

"It's for emergencies. In case you need anything: help on a case ... stakeout companion ..." The sides of his mouth lifted into a smile. Iris' mouth went dry. "That's what partners do. Even _independent_ ones."

She tilted her head to the side, contemplating her next set of words, even when he turned on his heel to walk away. Dick looked over his shoulder and sent her another smile, which jolted her out of her own thoughts. She spun her chair back to the computer screen, before meeting Charlie's excited stare again from over the cubicle wall. She was grinning from ear to ear.

"Now, _this_ is one guy you can't ignore, Kingsley!"


	5. SOLO

#### CHAPTER FOUR

##### SOLO

#####  **__________________________**

**DAYS** were getting harder. The streets weren't as safe. More reports filtered in about the masked vigilante roaming the allies at night, and police were now incredibly worried that they were dealing with a violent sociopath. Iris thought that was a bit of a stretch. The guy clearly just didn't want to work alongside them. Officers were a strict, tight-knit bunch, and refused to let newcomers in. She could empathize why the vigilante wanted nothing to do with them.

Or maybe he just _was_ a violent sociopath and she was thinking all too blindly. Could be one or the other.

The chief of police had rounded up his best officers into a tiny room. It was a rainy Monday morning, so most had shown up late anyways. The old office could hardly house them, and was now mostly used for demonstrations or private meetings. It smelled like expired milk in there. Iris was lucky enough to get a seat at the long table situated in the middle of the room, squeezed between an officer who looked like he barely washed himself and the chief's secretary that was obviously fantasizing about sucking him off. She shuddered at the thought.

There were so many other ways that she could be spending her time right now. Like doing her research. Maybe even finishing that half-eaten bagel that still laid on her desk from yesterday. Literally, _anything_ but sitting in this dumb room, hearing the static crackle in the air. Some people tried talking amongst themselves, but the room eventually grew silent again when the Chief walked in.

Mr. Angeles was a tall man with large muscles covering his entire body. His legs and calves looked like they could take down a tank. His arms were the size of adult pythons, and his hands seemed strong enough to choke someone in under two seconds. Iris hardly spoke to him, specifically for these reasons. (Not many people scared her. Mr. Angeles was a different story.) His hair was always quaffed in some sort of retro style. He was quite attractive, if you were into muscly guys that looked like they could kill you with only their bare hands. She could somewhat understand why his secretary fantasized about him.

"I'm sure you've all been watching the news lately. You know what's been going on around the city at night," the Chief began, eying each and every one of them in the room. Iris rested her cheek in her hand, narrowing her eyes in his direction. "Because of this, I thought it would be good to give you all a short briefing on what to do if you encounter a masked vigilante, much like the one seen here."

Mr. Angeles turned the projector on and flipped the lights. The room was shrouded in darkness, but eventually lit up as the projector generated a picture on the white wall from one of the blurry videos of the vigilante. Mr. Angeles swiped a red light pointer from his pocket and smacked it in the direction of the wall. Iris let her head fall into her hands.

"Step one: approach with caution –"

Steven, a low-ranking officer, raised his hand. "What if we approach too quickly, Chief?"

"Well," Mr. Angeles sighed and placed his hands on his hips. He sent Steven a concerned look before waving off his question. "Just ... just don't do that."

Steven sunk back into his seat and tried to pretend like he didn't exist. Iris snickered as quietly as she could.

"Step two –" The Chief continued. "– Advise the person to set their weapon _down_ – hey, Grayson!"

Iris blinked, twisting her head in the direction of Mr. Angeles' scowl. Once her eyes had found his – the warm, caramel brown that could easily disguise itself in the darkness – she realized they had been directly on her the _entire time_. His stare penetrated her, freezing her whole body in place. She refused to move an inch until he addressed the Chief, but they were still there, holding her like a tight rope. She held her head up with her hand, allowing her fingers to shield the perplexed frown appearing on her mouth.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, he looked away, and took in the Chief's angered expression. Iris released a breath of relief that she didn't know she had been holding in.

Mr. Angeles swung his pointer towards the wall, allowing the red dot to hover over the blurry picture. "Are you paying attention? Or are you going to continue staring at the ladies?"

Dick glanced at his hands. The room was silent. Not one person wanted to release a chuckle. Dick licked the corner of his lips and replied, without viewing up, "No, Chief."

Iris couldn't look away now.

"Maybe it's time for you to start," Mr. Angeles quipped, turning back to the wall projection. His current frown flipped and the corners of his mouth formed into a quick smile. "Now, as I was saying, step two ..."

#####  **__________________________**

Iris was one-hundo percent ready to crack down on the case. After extensive days and hours spent on research, she came up with nothing but a tiny inkling of who she thought would be hit next. She never truly realized until this case how many antique shops resided around the city. There were five: three had had already been hit, so that left two in the running.

Each shop was within a five hundred foot radius of each other, and the robbers seemed to be moving counterclockwise. They were moving in the direction of the right with each shop that they hit. If her theory was correct, the next shop on their radar was on Lonesdale street: St. Anne's Antique and Depository.

St. Anne's was probably one of the largest antique stores on the block. Iris had never stepped foot inside, though. Most people said the place smelled like dirty feet. A lot of old veterans liked to deposit their grimy and worn-out uniforms there, which left the place with a hint of death in the air. Charlie said once that she went there to thrift shop and ended up leaving because it smelled like a warzone, and she could never stand the scent of blood.

Looks like it was time for Iris to finally pay a visit. Lucky her.

She let Mr. Angeles know that she was leaving early that day. Telling him a lie was the only way to get him to not question it. She said that she was going to interview a potential witness about the masked vigilante case, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. Iris headed for the four-thirty train that evening, but instead of getting off eight stops for home, she stepped off at stop three, right near the tail end of Lonesdale street. The cold air whipped against her face, almost blowing the scarf right off her shoulders. She began to walk quickly towards the location of St. Anne's, if the GPS app on her phone was correct.

Turns out, it wasn't. What looked like a short three-minute walk from the train station turned into a fifteen-minute walk, which – _for your information_ – felt even longer in cold weather. Finally, after what seemed like forever, she spotted the blinking sign for St. Anne's Antique and Depository. The sign was rotting and made out of all old lightbulbs – some flickering in and out, some not. Iris smiled to herself, but the expression soon faded when she noticed a particular car sitting in front of the building.

A silver Porsche 911. One that she saw in the parking lot at the station far too often.

Iris' teeth clenched. She began to stomp towards the antique shop, releasing incoherent grumbles under her breath. Iris approached the car with a scowl, peering inside the passenger side door the most she could. The windows were blacked out. But she managed to squint enough to recognize a cold Jillian's Coffee in the cupholder. Iris shot back up, murmuring under her breath, " _Grayson_."

Spinning on the tip of her ankle boot, she continued her stomps right into St. Anne's, practically ripping the front door off its hinges. She found him there, leaning against the cashier counter, sending the owner his best charismatic grin. (It looked far creepier to Iris. He really didn't know how to talk to strangers.) The bell over the door rang at her arrival, causing both Dick and the owner to turn her way.

Iris was already in front of him, though, yanking on the collar of his dress shirt and muttering, " _Fucking Dick_."

"Huh," he chuckled, wiggling out of her grip, "haven't heard _that one_ before."

She swallowed hard, realizing that she was making a scene in front of the owner. The store was quiet and empty, except for the three of them. Iris sent the older woman a quick smile. "Will you excuse us for a minute, um –" She looked down at the woman's name tag written in red sharpie. "– Melissa?"

"It's _Meleesa_ ," the elderly woman corrected in a grouchy tone, shooing them off with a wave of her veiny hand.

Iris rolled her eyes and dragged Dick out by his collar, refusing to let go. He tried shaking her off, but her grip was strong and resilient, and he knew her anger wasn't going to fade so quickly. Once outside, Iris released her hold, causing him to stumble back a few steps. "God," he said, tugging on his now-wrinkled collar, "did anyone tell you that you got a good grip?"

"Don't change the subject, Grayson." She shoved a finger in his face. His eyes focused in on her chipped brown fingernail polish. "You've been looking at my shit again. This is _my_ investigation. _My_ interview. Not yours! I told you –"

"Office lingo 1-0-1. Yeah, I know." He stuck his hands into his front pockets. "I wasn't trying to take the case from you."

One of her eyes twitched. He was really testing her patience. "Then what do you call you showing up to this interview before me and talking with the St. Anne's owner _yourself_? Friendly partnership?"

He looked at her as if it were obvious. "Well, _yeah_ , kind of."

"Are you that _dense_?" She tangled her hands into her hair, forming knots into the already-matted strands. "You're a _detective_ , for Christ's sake!"

"Can you just listen to another person for one _goddamn_ second?" He exclaimed, stepping closer, invading her space.

Iris felt his breath on her face. She licked her lips, allowing her cheeks to flush for a second – and _only_ a second. His nostrils flared; his brows went narrow. She silently wondered if he got this close to his other coworkers.

"I came here because I want to help. _That's it_." He replied, his tone venomous and seething. "Whether you like it or not, you have to realize one day that we are _partners_ , and the Chief wants us to work together. He's not sitting around and letting you walk all over him anymore. Neither am I."

She tilted her head to the side. " _Really_? Because my boots could sure do a number on all your faces."

Dick sighed, lifting his stare to the darkened sky. "Can you _please_ just work with me here? I'm not asking for much."

"No, you're asking me to change and I don't want to do that."

Those caramel irises scrutinized her, and she questioned if he actually had to power to hear her continuous internal screaming because they were still so _fucking_ close to each other: chest to chest, toe to toe. "You don't like change?"

Iris shook her head, finally moving away from him and rounding his side. "I don't have time for this."

Dick turned and watched her head towards the entrance to St. Anne's once again. "Then what _do_ you have time for?"

"Working on this case," she said with a salacious smirk, " _solo_."


	6. STAKEOUT

#### CHAPTER FIVE

##### STAKEOUT

#####  **__________________________**

**IRIS** hadn't done a lot of stakeouts in her career. Honestly, she thought of it as a way to do nothing and get away with it. She knew _loads_ of detectives that used stakeouts to get a few more hours of sleep on the job, or to jerk off in cruiser and get paid for it. She never liked stakeouts for this reason. Iris wasn't about to take a nap or watch porn during one, but they were so boring that there was nothing else to do but _that_. She could almost sympathize with those lazy detectives. _Almost_.

Thankfully, Dick hadn't found out about her planned stakeout that night. She had an _extremely_ strong premonition that St. Anne's would be the robbers' next stop, and it _had_ to be tonight. Over the past three weeks, each place was hit on Thursday night at exactly 10:18 PM. If they still went according to plan, tonight would be no different. At least, that's what she hoped.

Iris parked her cruiser over a hundred feet from St. Anne's back entrance. Burglars were known to hit from the back. She never really liked driving this thing. She _much_ preferred the train, even with its stash of regular characters, but sometimes she needed to suck it up. After putting the cruiser in park, she turned the whole car off to make it seem like no one was there, so she now had to suffer through the cold night with no heat. Iris wore a heavy parka that she tried wrapping around her legs when she pressed her knees to her chest. Her only source of heat – which was hardly anything – was the sweet taste of nicotine that lingered on her tongue from her cigarette. She smoked at least eight of them during this time just to stay warm – well, that was what she told herself, as if a tiny killing machine could fight against the frigid autumn air.

She felt herself nodding off around 10:10 PM. Iris kept bobbing her head back and forth, trying to keep it afloat over the sea of responsibilities and anxiety. Eventually, her eyes shut, and she fell deeper and deeper into the void of darkness. She slipped into a dreamy reality where everything was okay and she didn't have to worry about things like dumb stakeouts or the fact that she was incredibly addicted to cigarettes or that she maybe had a _tiny_ problem with drinking too much whiskey every single night. Everything was warm and dark and peaceful –

A car door slammed outside. Iris woke with a start.

There was an old coffee toppling down in the cup holder and she flung her hand out to stop it. Cold coffee spilled onto the passenger side, but she didn't have time to clean it now. Iris popped her head up, zeroing in on the car parking itself behind a large bush across the street. It was a jet black SUV. She slid closer to the window, sitting in the small puddle of week-old Starbucks, and watched a group dressed in head-to-toe black pile out of the van.

"Oh, shit," Iris muttered, shoving herself out of her own car.

She had to go in through the back. If she went into the front with them, it would be too obvious, too calculated. Iris tore off her parka, tiptoeing warily towards the shop. She pulled her weapon out from its holster and approached the back door of St. Anne's. It was painted a teal blue and rusting around the doorknob. When Iris wiggled the knob, she realized it was locked. Well, she really wasn't _surprised_ – every door had to be locked after closing.

This wasn't even technically legal – _per say_. But if she didn't do this now, this group would continue to plague the whole city and cause even more chaos. They needed one less problem in the streets of Detroit, what with a fucking masked vigilante running around. (But I digress. Back to the story.)

Iris was taught in training how to get through a locked door, but the good old bobby pin trick never failed her. It was oldest – and _best_ – trick she had ever learned. Plucking a bobby pin from her dark locks, Iris bent the metal just a little bit and fumbled it into the lock. She twisted it back and forth, anxiety rattling her bones, but eventually, the lock clicked open. Iris ripped the door open and headed inside.

She walked carefully, like a prowl, her weapon pointed directly in front of her. Noises echoed from the front of the store. Iris did her best to meander through the darkness, allowing the thieves' soft whispers to be her guide. She arrived near the front seconds later, pushing past the dusty curtain that led to the backroom, and found a group of three pacing around the jewelry section. Their flashlights swiveled around a glass box. They asked each other who would be the one to do it.

Iris flipped the safety off and cocked back her gun. "Police!" She hollered. "Put your hands up! All of you!"

One of them turned her way, a pair of light eyes burning into her own. Before she could shout a warning, they brought the end of their flashlight down, smashing the glass case.

"STOP!" Iris shrieked, rounding the several clothing racks to catch up with the thieves. They pushed on each other and yelled for someone to "get it," whatever _it_ was. Iris didn't care. She wiped the sweat from her brow and shot at the wall, hoping it would cause the robbers to fumble. They weren't fazed at all.

The group of three continued to shove each other towards the entrance. They tripped and almost fell when Iris shot again. The bullet bounced off the tip jar on the counter, sending it across the floor. Her pursuit was not finished. She was closer this time. Close enough to reach out, fingers itching to snatch the black ski masks right off their heads. She shot again. The sound was almost deafening, and her ears began to ring. They slipped right into each other, but it didn't matter, because two of them were already reaching the door, skidding out like a runaway car.

But she reached further, pulling a muscle in her shoulder as her fingers curled around the collar of the last one in the group, and she jerked them backwards with all the might she had left in her. It was difficult. Her lungs burned and her voice was hoarse. Maybe if she hadn't smoked so much, it would be a different story.

The man fell back. (Iris concluded then that it was definitely a man.) His spine collided with the ground, but he still had some fight left in him. He tried bouncing back up, swinging his fist to land a quick punch in her gut. She dodged it, and took the split second she had of him falling face-first into the floor to notice the other two thieves driving off in the black SUV.

"HEY!" She shrieked, though she knew it was useless. They were already gone and her voice was straining so hard that it felt like it was bleeding.

Iris notched her hand around the man's collar again, yanking him up to his knees. Her arms begged for release. They throbbed with pain, a sudden reminder that maybe she _did_ need to work out more often. But that wasn't important now. She held her breath, sliding her weapon back into its case and pulling out a spare set of handcuffs she always kept in her jacket. (Chief's orders. He did have important rules from time to time.) Locking them around the man's wrists, Iris cocked her head to the side and wondered why his build looked so familiar to her.

"Let's see who you really are, dipshit," she whispered, lifting the mask off. Iris suddenly couldn't breathe.

A mop of dark brown curls. Peridot eyes that liked to stare at her for way too long. Warm, honey-colored skin that looked like it could've been made of the sun itself. That goddamn _stupid_ smirk that bordered on the verge of creepy and flirtatious. She almost didn't want to believe it. None of this made sense.

It was Josh.

#####  **__________________________**

Iris had taken a lot of medication in her life. When she was a baby, her lungs were too small, too weak for her own body, leaving her with multiple hospital visits and piles of meds from the ages one to three. When she was fifteen, she started to take these pills that the doctor said would combat her hideous acne – the kind that left your face in a blanket of painful, red bumps – but after being on those for a year, she realized they were just a placebo and didn't do shit. At the age of eighteen, she began seeing a therapist, who convinced her parents that she bipolar, which then led to her taking medication that she didn't even need. She just had anger issues, and the therapist _knew_ that, but Iris learned that all doctors were crooked and pills were always the same. They tasted alike and went down the same way.

But _this_ – learning that her neighbor was part of some local burglary group, realizing that him waiting outside his apartment every night could've been him watching her, having to put him in handcuffs ... _This_ was one of the toughest pills she had to swallow.

It didn't take long to get a few cruisers down to St. Anne's. The alarm had apparently gone off anyways, so they were already on their way by the time she rang them in. A few officers wrapped the crime scene in that famous, bright yellow tape that you saw in every CSI episode, except the sight of it felt different when you saw it in real life. Iris had been near caution tape for years, but it always left her with a churning in her stomach. That feeling only worsened when she turned her head to the side and watched an officer lead Joshua to the back of a squad car. He was going to be taken in for questioning and booked.

Josh hadn't said a word to her when they had waited for her team to show up. Granted, she didn't even know what to ask. _How? Why?_ Her throat closed up and all she could focus on was how calm he was being in a pair of handcuffs, as if he expected to take the fall. She'd learn more tomorrow when she came into the station. Maybe she'd even get a chance to question him in the morning. But she knew she wasn't going to sleep tonight. Not when she now knew that her flirtatious neighbor had been watching her this whole damn time.

The break-in had been stopped, but the case wasn't over. She still had two other criminals on the loose, and if her intuition was correct, they weren't done just yet. There had to be more to this than just trivial robberies.

Another pair of headlights arrived on scene. Iris turned and held a hand out in front of her, shielding her eyes from the bright lights. The car shut off and she squinted, recognizing the silver Porsche. Iris lowered her hand as the driver slammed his car shut. She raised an inquisitive brow, "Dick?"

His arms were already out, but not to hug her. (Fuck out of here with _that_ assumption.) No, he was angry. More than angry, actually. His eyes were furious and full of malice, much like her own from time to time. Dick stalked towards her quickly, like a predator approaching its prey, though he knew she'd never been the inferior one in their partnership. They were two sides of the same coin, constantly battling for who was on top, or who was in more control. She won this time.

"What the _hell_ , Iris?" Dick exclaimed, halting in front of her with a thunderous stomp. " _Why_?"

Iris looked from him to the caution tape blowing through the wind. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Why _what_?"

Dick blinked rapidly. " _Why_ didn't you call me? Or at least tell me you were planning a stakeout?" He demanded, tone bursting with haste. "I had to find out from the fucking security guy that sits outside the station eating a dozen donuts every night shift!"

"I didn't _need_ you," she replied with a roll of her eyes. "I could do this on my own."

He couldn't speak for a moment. He had absolutely no words. It felt like they had this conversation at least twenty thousand times, and he was officially over it. Dick was standing his ground.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? We're supposed to be working together and you just shut me out all the time!" He ran a hand through his hair before whipping it down directly at his hip. "You know what? I'm fucking tired of it."

Iris narrowed her eyes. The blue irises darkened and sparkled against the stars in the night sky. "What do you think this is? _A marriage_?"

"No, no, no. We're done with your questions." He wagged a finger in front of her nose, and she was tempted to smack it away. "Seriously, what is _your deal_? Do you just not like new people or something?"

"I do things _solo_ ," she said, extending the last word for more emphasis. "Always have. Always will."

Dick scoffed and rubbed at his eyes. She was glaring at him, as if _he_ did something wrong, but it was her. All their problems and arguments and everything in between – they started with _her_ , simply because she couldn't let a single person into her life. It was time for her to get used to change.

"Yeah, well, keep that up and you can consider yourself off the force."

He stepped around her, bumping the end of his shoulder into her own, like how she'd done to him. Iris thought she hadn't heard him at first, but that couldn't be – she had _excellent_ hearing. So that meant ... she _had_ heard those words, she _had_ listened to his warning, and she wasn't having it.

Iris spun on the tip of her boot. Her voice was like ice as she asked, "Are you threatening to _fire me_?"

One side of Dick's lips lifted the slightest bit, and he looked back at her, raising his voice so it matched her own: "What gave it away?"


	7. HANDOUTS

#### CHAPTER SIX

##### HANDOUTS

#####  **__________________________**

**IRIS** really didn't _expect_ to get yelled at by both Mr. Angeles and the owner of St. Anne's come Monday morning. Well, with the Chief, she realized it might've been deserved. He obviously found out she wasn't working with the other lead detective on cases – or Dick ratted, which was also a possibility – and he most _certainly_ wasn't happy about it. Whatever. Wasn't like she hadn't gotten this lecture before, and she didn't plan on changing her ways now.

However, the conversation with St. Anne's owner, Meleesa Hayward, ended in a screaming match, simply because she wished she would've been warned that an attack would be happening in the first place. Clearly, Meleesa didn't really understand the definition of a "surprise robbery," but Iris wasn't interested in the woman arguing with her for an hour. She didn't blame her. Iris was sure she'd probably act the same way if her pride and joy was broken into. She _at least_ expected a thank you, since she kind of – _you know_ – saved Meleesa's business. But all Iris received from the owner was a frustrated scoff and the telephone line going dead.

 _She just needs to calm down_. That's what Iris told herself. If she didn't justify the rude woman's actions, she might've just punched a hole in the wall.

After a few days, Iris decided that maybe she would pay good ol' St. Anne's a visit, just to check up on things and make sure nothing strange had happened since the break-in. Iris tried to mentally prepare herself for an outburst from Meleesa while on the way there. She hoped the older woman wouldn't say the wrong thing, because there wouldn't be a phone line separating them anymore, and Iris was known to act with her fists. She hadn't done that in _years_ , but still ... it was always good to expect the unexpected.

The outside of the building almost looked brand new when she pulled up. New sign, new windows, new painted finish ... you almost wouldn't believe that this place was a crime scene nearly a week ago. Iris stepped out of the cruiser she borrowed during her lunch hour and stared at the fresh coat of bright blue paint that now accompanied the outside. She nodded her head in admiration. For a small second, she had to hand it to Meleesa. The woman sure did know how to cover up an almost-tragedy.

The bell rang above her head as she walked through the front entrance. The air smelt fresh and clean. Iris looked to the corner of the room, down where the jewelry section was located, and noticed most of the glass boxes were now brand new. Not one crack, not one shard. Iris shrugged, turning her head in the direction of the cash wrap. A grumble echoed at her feet, and sure enough, she found Meleesa rummaging through the mess below her register.

Iris leaned over the counter. "Meleesa?"

The owner glanced up, immediately bumping her head on one of the shelves as she got to her feet. Iris winced, even though she didn't feel the pain. Meleesa rubbed at the throbbing pain that erupted within her forehead. "Jesus, what a way to start off the morning," she huffed, eyeing Iris with a sudden curiosity. "What can I help you with?"

"We actually spoke on the phone a few days ago," Iris said, approaching the subject gradually. She lifted the side of her jacket and revealed the police badge hanging on the inside. "I'm Detective Kingsley with the Detroit PD. I was there on the night of the break-in, but ..." She glanced around the area. "It almost looks like there wasn't one at all."

Meleesa nodded. "Yeah, we shut down for a few days to repair all the damage done. It finally gave me an excuse to sharpen up the place." She turned to face the detective, a soft smile gracing her thin, aging lips. "I'm sorry for the way I acted on the phone with you. I was under a lot of stress and –"

"No need to apologize. I would've acted the same way."

There absolutely _was_ a need to apologize, but Iris needed to learn how to be the nice cop once in a while.

"I really –" Meleesa huffed, taking a moment to collect herself. Her gaze floated around the room. "I really want to thank you for helping to catch those criminals."

 _Criminal_ , Iris corrected in her head, but she refused to speak it. "It's my job," she replied with a shrug. "I just came here to check up on things and –"

Meleesa began shimmying from the cash wrap and gestured with her hand for Iris to follow. "I've been thinking of some ways to repay you!" She exclaimed, sprinting over to the jewelry aisle. "And I think I now know exactly what will fit."

Iris shook her head, hesitantly stepping over to meet Meleesa at the large glass case in the corner of the jewelry section. The first rule of police work was to never take handouts, especially from a victim of a crime. There weren't any _particular_ rules written down in the handbook for it, but ... morally, it was wrong.

"Seriously, Meleesa," she continued, "I don't need anything."

The middle-aged shop owner didn't listen, and instead, unlocked the glass case with a tiny key mixed in the dozen hanging from her key ring. Meleesa lifted the top with ease, eyes glistening with excitement as she plucked a necklace from the satin cushion. Holding it out in front of her, Meleesa grinned, "I want you to have this."

Iris' eyes went wider than ever before. The necklace was definitely an antique, but she couldn't guess how old. The thick, silver chain looked like two chains intertwining with each other, wounding together to create something whole. A light shade of blue reflected off of her grey irises as she took in the pendant. It was made from some old shard of turquoise, with flecks of silver and gold littering the surface, as a frame that looked like the sun held it in place. Iris looked back at Meleesa, who was smiling from ear to ear. "I can't take this."

Meleesa lifted a brow. "Legally?"

"No, _morally_ I can't take this," she clarified. "I was honestly just doing my job. It's wrong of me to accept a gift for that."

"I understand," Meleesa sighed, lowering the necklace just a bit, but Iris' stare was still trained on it. "I think the burglars were trying to get to something in this case. Maybe this necklace, but I don't know. I thought giving it to you was the right thing to do ..." She grinned again, holding the necklace up to Iris' neck. "And see how _nice_ it would look on you!"

Iris' hard expression softened. "Meleesa –"

" _Please_ , Detective Kingsley," she begged, rattling the large necklace in her hands. "Don't think of it as a gift. You'd be doing me a _favor_. The sight of this thing only reminds me of the nightmare that happened here, and I've been trying to sell it for weeks with no luck. It came from an anonymous benefactor and I can't contact them to take it back. _Please_. Just take it."

Iris looked back down at the stone. She licked her lips, imagining how it would look on her. She really didn't have a lot of necklaces that she liked, and turquoise _was_ her birthstone. The look in Meleesa's eyes was truly pitiful. Iris felt her hand twitch, wanting to reach out for the necklace, as if it was calling out to her. This was morally wrong, but ... maybe because she was helping Meleesa ...

With a loud sigh, Iris said, "Sure, I'll take it."

Meleesa squealed, already running behind the detective to clip the piece on. Iris inwardly chastised herself for her stupid decision and shook her head, but still held up her hair. Meleesa lifted the necklace up and over Iris' head, allowing the pendant to collide with her chest, as if it was connected by a magnetic force. The shop owner brought the two ends of the clasp towards each other, but it linked together easily, surging towards each other before she could even blink. Meleesa released a _humph_ , but paid it no mind.

She guided Iris towards the dusty mirror right next to the glass case. Their stares met in the mirror, and Meleesa's pearly whites sparkled. "It's like it was made for _you_!"

Iris forced a smile onto her lips, fingertips brushing against the stone laying delicately on her chest.

There was no way she could be seen with this in the office.

#####  **__________________________**

Lucky for Iris, she had worn a turtleneck that day, so she was able to hide her newest jewelry piece underneath the collar of her sweater. No one suspected a thing. She didn't even want to _imagine_ what Mr. Angeles would say if he saw it. He would've known straight then that she accepted a handout. (He wasn't always that clever, but sometimes, he allowed his brain to work overtime.)

Dick hadn't even questioned her for coming into the station way later than usual _and_ the fact that she wasn't in too much of a hurry to get to her seat. He hardly looked up from his computer as she waltzed into the office, taking her seat casually. Iris cast a quick glance in the direction of his office – the fastest she had ever turned her head – and noticed that he was hard at work, the blinds closed on every window. She frowned and walked to her cubicle. He hadn't acknowledged her since their argument at the St. Anne's crime scene.

The day went on as scheduled. The Chief suggested a new case for her to work on. Something about a body found by the creek near the outskirts of the city. An empty bottle of Captain Morgan was found right near it. She began her research, as requested, but it didn't take an idiot to realize what had happened. The person obviously got way too intoxicated on that bottle of rum, fell in the creek, and was too drunk to pick themselves up. They drowned. Easy as pie.

Her night was spent on the usual train ride. The usual screaming commenced. The old man sitting at the end of the cart continued with his usual, manic laughter. And Iris drowned them all out with a mere swipe of her headphones. She trudged up those rickety stairs again, looking towards Josh's front door. A sickly feeling plummeted in her stomach and crawled all the way up her throat. His whole door was perfectly intact, as if no one had ever lived there. The only evidence left of Josh Zuma was the weird symbol still hanging underneath his apartment number.

Iris sighed as she shut her door, immediately turning on an old episode of _Friends_ from her mom's Netflix account that she didn't know she still used. After rummaging through her fridge for fifteen minutes, Iris settled on three-day-old, cold pizza. Dinner of champions. She stuffed her face while watching the rerun she had seen about a hundred times, washing the meal down with her favorite whiskey.

Nothing was out of the ordinary that whole day. Nothing at all.

After quickly washing her face, Iris tugged on an old men's t-shirt and decided to retire for the night. She'd shower in the morning. Pulling her hair up into a messy ponytail, she looked in the mirror and realized she totally forgot her new necklace had been on this entire time. It was like she hardly felt it at all. The weight of her own guilt of accepting it masked the existence of the necklace as a whole. Iris bit her lip while looking at it in the mirror. It did look _really_ pretty.

"You can't wear this anymore, Kingsley," she told herself. "No more handouts."

Reaching around to the back of her neck, Iris began to fumble with the clasp to take it off, but she could hardly get a grip on the thing. "Goddamn nails," she whispered, looking down at her short cuticles, still half-painted. Iris huffed and reached back again, finding the clasp and playing with the opening.

She then realized that she couldn't feel it. The clasp felt like a solid bead holding it together, unwilling to break. Iris lifted a brow. She played with it in her fingers before eventually spinning it towards her collarbone, to get a glimpse of the clasp in her bathroom. Surely, there had to be a way to get it off. I mean, how did Meleesa put it on in the first place?

But there wasn't a clasp. There wasn't a _damn clasp_. A solid, iron bead held the necklace together, locking it around her neck. Iris started to sweat. She tugged on the chain hard, using all the strength left in her body to rip the necklace right off. But it _wouldn't_. The necklace was unwilling – no, _refusing_ her. She pulled and she pulled and she pulled, but it stayed in place. The stone glowed hazily with each tug.

Was this the universe punishing her for taking a handout? Did she really do something _that bad_?

She didn't have time to answer those questions, because her hands started to burn.

Iris felt it immediately. The burning started at her fingertips, spreading all the way down to her palms. Her whole hand felt like it was on _fire_. It pulsed and ached and felt like a symbol was being branded into her, like in one of those weird cult movies. She winced in pain and brought her hands back in front of her eyes. A scream clogged itself in her throat.

They were _glowing_.

Her hands were fucking _lighting up_.

A bright, turquoise-blue light flooded her whole vision. It radiated across her stare, reflecting through her grey irises. The light was so blinding that she could hardly look at it, and she didn't _want_ to. She didn't want to acknowledge it – a new change creeping its way into her life – but her palms were _burning_ and pulsing with goddamn _lights_. How could she possibly ignore something like that?

Iris sunk to the floor. She only had on a thin pair of shorts, and the yellow tiles felt cool over her bare legs. Iris pressed her palms into the cold surface to gain some equilibrium, but nothing would stop the burning. Nothing would stop the lights. She heaved and heaved and smashed her hands against the floor, begging for the lights to cease and go away forever. She clenched and unclenched her fingers. She turned on the bathtub faucet and ran her hands underneath the water. But the lights never wavered. They didn't even _flicker_.

The necklace wouldn't come off, and now her hands were lighting up.

How could this night get even worse? Very easily.

Iris felt a wetness on her cheeks. She had been crying, but she hardly felt a thing while trying to cease the blue strobe igniting her entire palm. "Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my _god_ ," she sobbed, pressing her hands into the tiled floor, begging for release.

There was no way out of this. There was no one that could help her. She didn't have a neighbor anymore. Her family lived all the way in another state. And she wouldn't _dare_ call Charlie – not like she had her number anyways. She was completely, utterly _alone_.

Unless ...

Iris lifted her tear-streaked face towards the toilet, where her phone sat on the edge of the closed cover. She blew a wandering strand of dark hair out of her face. Maybe it was time to go with her last option. It wasn't like she had anything left to lose.

Wiping the leftover mascara from her tearful eyes, Iris sat up on her knees and reached for her phone. She fumbled with it for a few seconds, struggling to even unlock it with the blue light covering her fingertip. Eventually, she got it open, and hurriedly searched through her contacts list until she landed on the _D_ section.

Iris groaned loudly. She looked to her palms, the light pulsing as she stared at it more and more, letting it blind her into oblivion. With a shake of her head, Iris sucked up all her pride and pressed her finger down on the call button.

_Calling Dick Grayson ..._


	8. THE BED TROPE

#### CHAPTER SEVEN

##### THE BED TROPE

#####  **__________________________**

**THE** ringing felt like it went on for hours.

It went to voicemail after Iris waited for at least two minutes. She breathed in deeply, trying to gain some kind of oxygen back into her lungs, and pressed call again. She bit down on the edge of her thumbnail and brought the phone up to her ear. Every breath felt like she was working overtime. Her hands ached, creating an intense throb right in the center of her palm.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

"Pick up, goddammit!" She whispered loudly, biting her nail down more and more.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep –_

" _Uh – hello?_ "

Iris shrieked the second Dick's voice wafted through her speaker. It sounded groggy and disoriented. Kind of cute, if she were being honest. ( _Stop that!_ Her conscious groaned.) She clutched the phone even tighter, pressing it to her ear with both hands, attempting to not cry out in pain from the burning that was scorching through her fingers.

" _Who is this?_ " He asked, grumbling low under his breath.

"Dick. It's Iris," she replied as quickly as she could. "Iris Kingsley. From the station."

She heard a loud thud on the other end. Iris raised a brow. "Dick?"

" _Yeah, yeah! It's me. I'm here._ " His words were rushed, struggling for a release. " _I just – uh – I didn't expect your call. Especially, at –_ "

"Midnight. Yeah, I realize that." Iris looked up to her ceiling. The lights were reflecting off the chipping, white paint, creating bright circles around the room. She huffed softly and closed her eyes. "I know this is ... very strange."

Dick laughed. The sound was weirdly calming. " _You think?_ "

She brought one hand down and rested it on her knee. While balling her hand into a fist, she realized the light never flickered. Iris bit her lip. "I think I need your help."

More stirring echoed through the speaker. Dick cleared his throat, " _Is everything okay?_ "

"Define, okay ..." She trailed off, allowing her stare to linger on the light just a bit too long. After a moment, she looked away, blinking her eyes rapidly. "Listen, in most situations, I would definitely _not_ be calling my coworker about a problem at midnight, but I fear you're my best option at the moment."

" _Alright_ ," he said, exhaling heavily, " _what's the problem?_ "

Iris unclenched her hand once again. "Well," she cleared her throat, "you see –"

" _Yes_ –"

"My hands are kind of ..." She paused. "... Lighting up."

Dead air rang through her ears. The silence was deafening, swallowing her whole.

" _Are you fucking with me right now?_ "

"Never would I _ever_ ," she quipped, narrowing her eyes at his response. "Why would I lie about something like this?"

Dick snickered, " _Because you dislike me, and I'm not too fond of you either at the moment._ "

"Okay, listen here, you little dipshit," she seethed, "I did _not_ sign up for a terrible night like this. The fucking necklace that I got from St. Anne's suddenly won't come off, and now my hands have blue lights blasting out of them. I called you because – _for some goddamn reason_ – I assumed you could help. But _no_ , I guess not. I guess I'll just be called a liar and –"

" _Wait_ ," he interrupted, causing her to stop abruptly, " _did you say your necklace won't come off?_ "

Her nostrils flared. "I'm not repeating myself!"

Silence again. All Iris could hear was the sound of her own heavy breathing. She swallowed hard, holding the phone tightly again. "Dick?" She whispered. "Are you still there?"

" _Yeah, yeah,_ " he answered swiftly. Noises echoed through her speaker, sounding like he was in a haste. " _I'm just thinking_."

"Well," Iris continued, "do you believe me?"

She could hear Dick locking a door on the other end. Her heart raced in her chest as he replied, " _I'll be there in fifteen. Text me your address._ "

#####  **__________________________**

Iris wasn't really keen on being told what to do, but when Dick Grayson immediately requested her location as he rushed over, she didn't think twice. She never once had a coworker over her house, nor had she ever wanted to either, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

She sat on her bathroom floor, knees to her chest, and did her best to focus on anything but the burning coursing through her system. Her phone sat idly on the floor as she waited for an arrival text from him. She balled her hands into fists, but strobes of blue light slipped through the cracks.

Iris couldn't believe she had gotten to this point. She _hated_ asking for help. She never needed it. Ever since she moved to Detroit, Iris learned to do things on her own and do them great. But _clearly_ , that doesn't last forever, and here she was, rocking back and forth on her bathroom floor with lights coming through her hands, while waiting for her coworker to help her do God knows _what_.

Her phone vibrated. She leaned forward to read the incoming text.

 **DICK GRAYSON:** _I'm here._

Iris refused to move from her spot, too afraid of what the lights would do if she even stepped away. She had no idea how to control them, or what they could do. Biting down on her bottom lip, she texted a response.

 **IRIS KINGSLEY:** _I'm in Apartment 43. Spare key is underneath the dead flower pot. Idk if I can move from the bathroom._

Minutes later, she heard the lock to her front door click, and then the squeak of rusted bolts turning as someone walked through. Iris looked up from her curled position, keeping her arms locked around knees, which were still pressing against her tight chest. She swallowed hard while listening to a pair of boots stomp through her tiny apartment, and for a split second, Iris wondered if it was someone other than Dick Grayson. Her anxiety sparked, causing the lights to pinch and pulse so painfully that her hands snapped open, unable to keep it at bay.

She screamed at the raw power running through her veins. The lights beat against the cracked ceiling, and her heartbeat raced even more than before. She didn't even notice that her necklace had been beating in and out with a bright, turquoise color, until she felt the weight of the stone against her rib cage.

Dick stopped short in front of the bathroom entrance, finding her curled up on the floor in front of the sink. Iris slowly turned to meet his eyes. She was almost scared to look. She didn't want to find pity or disgust in them. Instead, Dick remained straight-faced. His lips parted slightly when he took in the vivid strobe igniting through the base of her palm. But still, it looked like this wasn't new to him.

"It won't _stop_ ," she said through clenched teeth. Her eye twitched slightly. "I don't know what to do!"

Dick wiped a sheen of sweat off his brow. "Okay, um –" He scrambled to the floor, kneeling on her left side, while she stared at him with narrowed eyes. He laid out his hands, palms facing up. "Turn to face me."

Iris bit down on her bottom lip, but eventually scooted in front of him. Her whole body shook the floor.

"Put your hands on top of mine."

"I'm _not_ holding your hand, _Dick_."

His mouth formed into a tight frown. " _Again_ , heard it before. Just take my hands."

With a loud sigh, Iris brought forth her glowing hands, allowing the ringing in her ears to drown out her racing heartbeat. She didn't have any other options now. It was time to listen. Iris swallowed hard once the lights hit the base of Dick's palm. She watched him wince the closer her palms got to his, but he learned to control his expression once their skins met, and everything felt a little more right in the world.

Dick dragged his tongue across his bottom lip. Iris watched him with the utmost intensity, noticing his face contort with perplexity. After a long moment, Dick curled his two thumbs over her grip, softly caressing the sides of her hands. Iris suddenly felt the need to move away, before it was too late. She was always _too late_.

"Breathe in and out," he instructed.

Iris knitted her brow together. " _That's_ how you expect to solve this fucking problem?! Breathing exercises?"

He met her eyes. "Can you just do it, _please_?!"

"Fine," she huffed, finally closing her eyes.

Iris felt the anxiety swell in her chest the longer Dick held on. She hesitated before finally taking in a long breath and then letting it slowly release from her lips. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard Dick say, "Keep doing that. Hold onto me still." And she did. Iris breathed in and out for several minutes – gripping Dick's hands tighter, feeling her heartbeat slow down. The pain within her palm dulled, and soon, she hardly felt anything at all. The necklace no longer felt like a heavy brick laying on her chest.

"You did it."

She opened her eyes, taking in Dick's caramel irises, full of wonder and amazement. Removing her hands from his, Iris blinked when she realized he was right: her hands had stopped glowing. There was no more pain. Her whole body had calmed down from its high. But that still left one problem.

Iris reached around the back of her neck and felt for the clasp. Nothing.

 _Goddammit_.

Dick bit the inside of his cheek, watching as she flexed her fingers, before reaching out again and examining her hand. Iris didn't have the strength to pull away. His thumbs pressed against her palm, but nothing happened. He viewed up with curiosity. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

"I already told you over the phone," she replied, slipping her hand away. "Did you still not believe me?"

"No, no, I just –" He ran a hand through his short hair. "I didn't know what to expect."

Iris turned her head, licking her lips as she tried to look at anything but him. She watched the faucet drip every two seconds. "I ..." Her hand instinctively went to the necklace, and she wrapped her hand around the pendant. It was warm to the touch. "I think it has something to do with this."

Her eyes flickered to his again, and just like that, her hand fell onto her lap, inviting his own to grasp the turquoise stone. Dick furrowed his brow while running his thumb along the base of the pendant. He felt nothing. The tiny flecks of gold and silver illuminated under his touch, but it was hardly noticeable with the dim bathroom lighting.

"We're going to have to look into this," he said, dropping the stone back onto her chest. Dick tried to ignore the sudden spark of electricity in his veins when their skin connected.

Iris tilted her head. " _We_?"

"Yes, _we_. Working together now, remember?" He clarified, getting to his feet and laying his hand out for her to take. "Chief's orders."

She rolled her eyes, swallowing down the defiant remark that was about to rise in her throat. After a moment of contemplation, Iris allowed him to help her up, and she, too, quietly ignored the electricity that so badly wanted to be released from their hands touching. She slipped out of his grip immediately.

Dick rubbed at the back of his neck. "Well ..." He huffed, lifting his head to stare at the old light on the ceiling, constantly flickering in and out. "It's late. I'll see you at the station tomorrow, and we can take some time to research this _together_. There has to be a reason for ..." He shook his head. "Whatever that was."

She watched him turn on his heel. Dick looked over at her from over his shoulder and sent her a tiny wave. "I'll show myself out," he said, boots clicking against her old hardwood floors. Iris didn't know why, but she followed him, just a few steps behind. His hand was on the knob of the front door, and she hesitated by the arch to her bedroom. Iris opened her mouth, unaware of what was going to come out.

"Hey, Dick," she muttered, teetering back and forth on her toes, "can you – um –" Her lips wobbled. Iris wanted them to stop, but the desire and vulnerability inside of her were more powerful, and nothing could hold it back. "Can you stay tonight?"

His face twisted with confusion as he turned back to her. This had to be a joke. "I thought you did things solo," he replied, a side of his mouth turning up.

"I do," Iris huffed, stepping forward just slightly. She looked to her feet. "But when your hands start to randomly light up, things get kind of complicated, you know?"

Dick laughed. Iris lifted her stare to him again, realizing that she had never heard his genuine laugh before. It was nice – almost inviting and addictive.

"Yeah," he finally answered, "I can do that."

"Uh – okay," she said, hurrying back to her messy bed. She didn't understand why she was so caught off guard. Maybe she wasn't actually expecting him to agree. Iris tore at the blankets scattered across her mattress and pull them up, making it look new again. Dick hesitantly watched her fluff up the pillows by the doorframe to her room.

"You don't have to do that, you know."

Her expression twisted. "You're a guest," she explained, gesturing to the newly-made bed. "Guests take the bed."

He laughed, and it was softer this time, only under his breath. Iris lifted a brow as he folded his leather jacket on the back of her lounge chair, which she forgot until _now_ that it was covered in her dirty laundry. Dick paid no mind though, and pointed to the other section of her apartment, where the living room and kitchen were connected. Iris suddenly realized this was the first time she had seen him without an old suit and tie on.

 _Don't admire him_ , she told herself. _He looks good in a t-shirt and jeans, but DON'T ADMIRE HIM!_

It was difficult though. _Really_ difficult.

"The couch is fine," he said, interrupting her inner monologue. Iris blinked and noticed he was already heading for the living room. "You'd be surprised how comfy one can be."

Iris padded her bare feet to the doorframe, watched him plop down on the couch and turn down the volume on the TV. Another clip of the masked vigilante was playing on the news, but he didn't really seem to notice. She still lingered by the door, balancing on the balls of her feet. "Don't you need a blanket or something?"

"Got one right here," he replied, pulling at the thin quilt that she had draped over the back of her couch. Her mom had made it when she was twelve, so it was now too small for her, and _certainly_ , too small for him. He didn't mind though.

Iris wavered and bit the end of her fingernail. She really, _truly_ couldn't believe this was happening right now. She allowed the enemy right into her safe zone. Was he even her enemy at this point? He did help her, but ... they didn't like each other. Or maybe they did. She wasn't quite sure.

This was weird. This was _so weird_. Wasn't there a saying about this?

 _Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer_. Ah, yes. That.

Dick turned, meeting her worried eyes from over his shoulder. His smiled cracked just a bit, and for a second, she didn't think they were enemies at all.

"You can go to sleep, Iris," he muttered. "I'll be right here."

However, when she woke up to her alarm at six AM the next morning, she found the quilt he used folded back in its spot. She looked to the lounge chair in her room. No jacket. It was like he vanished like a ghost.

She heard the rumble of an engine outside her bedroom window. Iris approached it while wiping the sleep away from her eyes. She spotted the little silver Porsche pulling out of her building's parking lot, and suddenly, she didn't know how to feel. He had stayed all night, only slipping away once he knew she was awake.

Maybe Dick Grayson was simply a ghost.


	9. HISTORY GEEK SIDE PROJECT

#### CHAPTER EIGHT

##### HISTORY GEEK SIDE PROJECT

#####  **__________________________**

**YOU** know how when something bad happens, you do whatever you can to keep up the façade that everything's fine? You'll smile at more people. Brush your hair a different way. Put on that expensive perfume your mom bought you for Christmas a few years back. _Anything_ to make those around you think that everything was fine. You weren't hiding anything; you were simply turning over a new leaf.

That's what Iris _attempted_ to do. Emphasis on _attempt_. She took two showers that morning and brushed her hair into a nice, put-together ponytail. She used that Victoria's Secret _Incredible_ perfume that her mother insisted was her scent in a card that explained why she couldn't come to Detroit for Christmas that year. She took a taxi to work, instead of the train, and while that was more expensive, it meant fewer people she had to interact with. When she arrived at work, she smiled to a few of the new interns, and even Charlie – the best, genuine smile she could muster while she was secretly _screaming_ inside – before retiring to her cubicle.

She could finally let the mask off. Iris let her the corners of her mouth rest, and she blew out a heavy sigh while turning on her computer. Pulling her chair out the slightest bit, she looked to see if Dick had gotten in yet. He was currently leaning against his desk and talking to Mr. Angeles. His leather jacket was draped over his desk chair. Iris bit down on her bottom lip and looked away.

When she turned back into her desk, she noticed Charlie standing up, hanging an arm over her side of the cubicle wall. The assistant smiled towards Iris, dimples perking up on the sides of her cheeks. "Well, well, well, Miss Kingsley," she drawled, "might I say you're _glowing_ this morning. Did someone have a little bit of 'fun' last night?"

Iris didn't even notice Charlie's blowjob hand gesture – although, it was _severely_ inappropriate to do – because her eyes immediately fell to her hands. She felt a spike of anxiety crawl up her throat, and she was ready to release a scream when she realized her hands were _fine_. No lights. Nothing. Charlie just meant ... _wait_ , what did she mean?

"I'm _glowing_?" She asked, brow raised inquisitively.

Charlie wrinkled her nose. "Uh – yeah, meaning that you look like you're in a good mood. You're glowing."

Iris took one last look at her hand, scrutinizing the base of her palm, before she shook her head and continued to log into her computer. Charlie decided to ignore the tone change.

"Hmm," Charlie said, leaning in closer, "I like your new necklace."

Her hand immediately went to the pendant, fingers clutching the stone as tight as she could. It felt warm again, but not scorching hot like last night. Her stomach was doing flipflops, and Charlie raised a brow at her coworker's reaction. Iris did her best to feign a smile, allowing that hand to slowly rest on her thigh, as if the gesture had never happened.

Charlie tilted her head to the side. "Is something wrong?"

" _Why_?" Iris asked, almost too quickly. "Why would anything be wrong? Nothing's wrong."

"I don't know," she shrugged. "You just seem kinda jumpy."

Iris licked at her dry lips and cracked them into another fake smile. "I'm fine," she promised. "Just ... woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

She stood to fiddle around with the stacks of manila folders that were lazily thrown around her desk, hoping that would make their awkward conversation end. Instead, she found herself looking towards Dick's office again, watching Mr. Angeles make his way out. Dick ran a hand over his face and then pulled at his tie. Ever so slowly, Iris felt time stop when his eyes met hers, but she turned away before she could stare any longer. She was hoping no one caught the interaction.

Oh, but someone did. Charlie McCarthy _did_ have the eyes of a hawk.

"Did you wake up on the wrong side of Detective Grayson's bed, _perhaps_?"

Her question startled Iris to the core. The detective snapped her head up, eyes narrowing towards her coworker's shit-eating grin. "No!" She exclaimed, flicking Charlie's arm that still laid on top of their cubicle wall. "Get back to work and stop asking me questions! I'm the one that does the interrogating, remember?"

#####  **__________________________**

Iris really didn't know what she had been expecting.

Dick looked like he had been preoccupied with something all morning – considering he spent a majority of those hours with his head in his hands and a shitload of papers strewn across his desk – so Iris took up to researching whatever weird amulet was now hanging on her neck all by herself. Truthfully, she _also_ had a shitload of other work to do, cases the Chief wanted her to look into, but right now, this was more important. The body found by the creek could wait another day. It wasn't like it was just going to stop being dead.

At the very least, she expected her Google search to come up with a few distinct articles up top, and the rest would be garbage. That's kinda how Google always worked. I mean, how could you not come up with a straight answer to: _What to do when your necklace won't come off and your hands start lighting up?_ Very easily. A majority of the top articles were from jewelry blogs giving instructions on how to fix a broken necklace. That was _way_ past her problem.

She had to get into the deeper stuff. Eventually, Iris led herself down a hole about amulets, and then spiritual pendants, and then the history of the turquoise stone. After two hours of leaning into her monitor and getting a severe backache, Iris happened upon an old WordPress blog about Aztec relics that hadn't been updated in who knows how long. It wasn't an academic article, but it was _something_ that also happened to feature a picture of the exact necklace that hung off her neck right now.

According to this dodgy blog, the necklace was an ancient Aztec relic only spoken about in old wives' tales. It was usually worn by the earth goddess, _Chalchiuhtlicue_. Many artists during the Aztec reign tried to replicate the necklace and gift it to their rulers, but none could ever make it just right. The Aztecs believe the original necklace was still out there, and it harnessed the raw power from _Chalchiuhtlicue_. This kind of power was strong, coming right from the earth's crust, and could be used to heal or destroy. The heavy, turquoise pendant contained the ancient energy, a symbol of her husband, _Xiuhtecuhtli_ , also known as the Turquoise Lord.

Iris rubbed at her eyes. This was _so_ not happening. Seriously, how _could_ it be? Her life wasn't something written about in comic books, nor was she the main character in some story about how "true love conquers all." She was the creator of her own fate, but recently, it seemed like someone else was pulling the strings.

She needed a cigarette.

As she stood outside in the cold, smoke billowing from her chapped lips, Iris wondered just how she came up with the notion that the small object between her fingers could solve anything. It really couldn't. All she felt was a sense of relief, before her tar-filled lungs began to hack up something jammed in the base of her throat. Cigarettes did nothing but provide economic stimulus and give innocent people cancer. So why did she think otherwise in times of stress?

Addiction was truly a bitch.

After throwing the dying stub to the pavement, Iris did her usual stomp and made her way back inside the station. It was probably time to do some _real work_ anyways. Tearing her coat off, she pushed through the glass doors of the station and almost crashed right into another a body. Iris blinked. Her whole body stiffened as the other person held her in place, halting her feet from moving any further.

"Oh, hey," she muttered, shrugging Dick's hand off. For a moment, it provided her the same sense of comfort as the nicotine lingering on her tongue. She felt her throat close up when he looked at her.

They both knew what happened last night. Would they say anything was the real question?

"I was just – uh –" Dick stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He waved to another guy headed out the door as a means of distraction, but the other man just sent him a confused look. Dick lowered his hand and turned back to Iris. "I was just going to get a coffee. I'll be back in five."

She nodded, chewing down on her bottom lip. Iris began to bounce on the balls of her feet while trying to come up with a way to get out of this conversation, even though she knew that she _desperately_ needed to talk to him about last night. She just needed to know that this wasn't some nightmare that she still hadn't woken up from. She needed to know that she wasn't crazy.

Dick cleared his throat, lowering his voice to a whisper.

Iris held her breath.

"Was – um –" He glanced to make sure no one was watching. "Was everything okay this morning? Nothing new?"

She turned her head slightly, watching Charlie duck her head down and look away. They needed to talk in private, but where? Every single inch of this place was crawling with wandering eyes. Iris scanned the room, looking down the corridor that led to the kitchen. She noticed a janitor pull a few cleaning products from his closet before softly shutting the door. Her brain sparked with an idea.

"Follow me," she whispered, tugging on his loose tie before he had a chance to argue. Her eyes flickered around the office as she pulled him behind her, ripping the door to the janitor's closet open and throwing them both inside. She shut the door with a discreet click.

Iris hadn't really taken into consideration how cramped the space would be. She yanked on the string that turned on the lightbulb above their heads, casting a dark orange light over their faces. They were now standing chest to chest. Iris tried moving away the best she could, but that just caused her spine to hit the wall. She groaned and pushed a few tufts of hair out of her view.

" _Why_ are we here?" Dick asked, eyes roaming around the small closet.

"This isn't the time for your annoying questions!" She whispered loudly, earning a glare from him. "You believe what happened last night, right?"

He paused for a moment. His expression twisted with confusion. "Why wouldn't I believe it?"

Iris released a breath that she didn't realize she had been holding in. That didn't mean they were out of the clear just yet.

"Because it's _impossible_ ," she continued, lifting a hand for him to see. "Hands don't just fucking light up, Dick!"

"I believe you. I swear." Before he could stop himself, Dick reached out, running his thumb along the smooth base of the turquoise pendant. For something so powerful, it looked like nothing. He looked at her from underneath his thick lashes, curling his lips into a smirk. "I've seen some shit in my day."

"Some shit?" She repeated, quirking a brow upward. For once, Iris didn't feel like moving away from him. "Like wearing a necklace that might possibly be an ancient Aztec relic with special powers? Shit like _that_?"

Dick's stare went narrow. "Did you just say –"

"Yes, yes, I said _all_ of that," she huffed. "I don't know how accurate that information may be. It came from a WordPress that looked like it hadn't been updated since 2010. Classic history geek side project."

"But _those_ are the people with the most information," he added with a twinkle in his eyes. "The question is – how do you really know that's the real necklace and not some cheap replica from a museum gift shop?"

Iris tugged at the chain. "Well, I would unlock it to inspect it, but I can't quite _get it off_."

"Oh, yeah. Right." He looked down at his shoes, thinking over his next set of words. After a long pause, he snapped his fingers. "We have to go back to St. Anne's. Ask the owner about who gave her the necklace, and we track them down from there."

"Meleesa doesn't know shit," Iris quipped. "She said the necklace came from an anonymous benefactor. We don't have a way to find out any more about this, besides that blog, and I don't know how much I'm trusting a guy that claims this necklace harnesses powers from the goddess, _Chal_ – _Chalchi_ –" She shook her head. "You get what I mean."

Dick shook his head. " _Still_ , you gotta retrace your steps to find an answer. You out of _all people_ , know that."

Iris batted her lashes, sending him a doubtful expression. Her chest was just touching is, and for a moment, she wondering if he could hear her heartbeat. It was thumping hard against her chest, creating a steady rhythm, and the slightest wave of his hot breath against her cheeks just made it all the more worse.

"We're detectives. We're supposed to be doing _real work_ ," she finally replied. "The last thing we need is to figure out why my stupid necklace won't fucking come off!" She pulled on the chain one more time, releasing a loud sigh of defeat. "Goddamit, why won't you come off?!"

" _Lower_ your voice –"

The closet door opened quickly, allowing the bright light from the outside to blind them for a short moment. Iris held a hand over her face before her eyes finally focused on the culprit. It was just the janitor, staring at them like a deer in the headlights. Iris and Dick shared another look.

Dick cleared his throat, "We'll just be –"

"Yeah," Iris muttered, sliding out of the cramped closet and sending the janitor a short wave. Dick followed swiftly behind.

The two of them walked back into the station, which seemed like it hadn't even moved since they left. Everyone was still in the same place. Papers were thrown everywhere. The Chief was still having an argument with Steve. Iris turned on her heel to face Dick once again, surprised at his sudden closeness. The small closet made this proximity not as strange, and for a second, Iris allowed her cheeks to flush.

"We'll talk more about this later." She wagged a finger in front of his face. "Maybe."

Dick grinned, watching her retreat back to her desk. He walked towards the exit again. " _Maybe_?"

Iris turned again, shrugging ever so casually. "Who else am I going to share this burden with?"


	10. ROBIN

#### CHAPTER NINE

##### ROBIN

#####  **__________________________**

**"I'M** gonna be honest," Dick said, sliding into the driver's side of his car, "I really didn't expect you to ask me to come."

Iris sent him a look and took the passenger seat. Truthfully, neither did she. But this situation seemed to be more than she could ever handle. For once, she _needed_ someone to help her through this. The weight of this stupid necklace was something she didn't want to bear alone. When she knocked on his office door that evening, even she was surprised at the words tumbling out of her mouth, asking him to accompany her on a trip back to St. Anne's after they both got off. Dick, _obviously_ , agreed, willing to shove himself into any case with his lead detective. The Chief had given him a look of approval as they both left the station for the night.

"Let's just say I'm finally taking your advice," she answered, sinking back into the seat. "We could probably take some back roads to get there. There's going to be a lot of traffic at this hour and I know St. Anne's is closing soon."

Dick grinned big. "Or we could just ..." He suddenly flicked a switch, and the bright red and blue lights above his car began to flash wildly. His Porsche also functioned as a cruiser. She needed to soup up her car with those too.

Iris flashed a smirk, revealing the small gap between her two front teeth. Dick had never noticed it before, but maybe that's because she had never genuinely smiled in front of him. He swallowed hard before swiftly pulling out onto the road.

"This is devious," Iris giggled, watching the lines of cars move out of their way once they saw the red and blue lights. She punched the radio button and a heavy metal song began to blast out. "I kinda like it."

Iris held onto the sides of her seat as Dick began to steamroll through the lines of traffic. She laughed wildly and it sounded almost hyena-like to Dick's ears, but he wasn't afraid of it. In fact, he was _delighted_ to hear her laugh around him, to express something other than hate. He glanced her for a second – justa _mere second_ – but it was enough. Her smile didn't falter.

It was like they never had any bad blood at all.

A drive that would normally take ten minutes only took five. Just about everyone swerved out of the way as soon as the sirens came into view. Iris used to think that cops who did this were dickheads, but ... desperate times called for desperate measures, and she certainly was _desperate_. She didn't have time to wait in traffic when a goddamn Aztec relic hung around her neck at this very moment.

Dick skirted to a complete stop, almost jolting both of them from their seats. Iris and Dick rocked forward, but pressed their palms onto the dashboard before anything bad could happen. "Jesus," Iris muttered. She blinked fast, turning her head to glance at the sign outside her window. It wasn't lit up anymore. The shop was about to close.

"I gotta go now if I wanna catch Meleesa," she said, unlocking her seat belt and throwing the passenger door open.

Dick nodded and cut the engine. "Yeah, yeah. Got it." He jumped out and rounded the Porsche, but not before Iris could turn around. She held her hand out with a pointed expression.

"Uh – what are you doing?"

Dick raised a brow. "Going in with you?"

She wagged her finger in front of his face. "No, no, no. _You_ stay in the car."

"Might I remind you that _I_ am the first lead detective. Not you." He stuck his hands into of the lined pockets of his jacket. "I _thought_ you wanted to work together."

"Listen, Mr. Know-It-All, _I am_ ," she quipped. "But if both of us go in, Meleesa's gonna think this is an interrogation. I just need to go in, ask her a few questions about the donator of this necklace, and then I'm out. We can go home and try to forget about this issue for the night."

Dick looked away for a moment, and then turned back to her. "Forgetting isn't going to make it go away, Iris."

She frowned. "I know that, okay? _I know_." Running a hand through her hair, Iris let out a heavy sigh and pointed in his direction. "Just let me go inside. I'll be back in five. _Stay in the car_."

"Whatever," he scoffed, turning on his heel to slip back into the driver's seat.

Iris head for the entrance, blowing a piece of dark hair out of her vision. For a moment, she felt a little bad for telling Dick off. He looked bothered that she hadn't asked him to go, and she guessed that he _was_ right. He was the lead detective and should be going with her. But this wasn't just a case anymore. It was personal.

Her attitude was definitely a little rude, but when was she to care about _his_ feelings? They were just coworkers. Nothing more.

She peered inside the large glass doors of St. Anne's, spotting Meleesa at the counter counting cash. The sign on the door said _CLOSED_ , but it wasn't locked. To Iris, that basically meant she could go inside. She pushed on the door handle and the bell above her head rang. Meleesa's eyes snapped in her direction. They were anxious at first, but upon recognizing the detective, her expression softened.

"Detective Kingsley," she greeted with a quick smile. "I didn't expect you to come by. I'm just about to close up, so I don't have much time to talk. What do you need?"

Iris approached cautiously, anxiety crawling up the base of her throat. She wasn't sure when the lights were going to start again, and the sudden shiver crawling up her spine made her wary.

"Um –" Iris ran a hand through her hair, throat running dry. She laid her hands on the counter. "Honestly, I'm not sure. Maybe some answers."

Meleesa tilted her head to the side. "Can you come back tomorrow and we can talk then?" She asked, placing the cash inside a safe below the counter. With a swing of her hip, she shut the register.

"I don't think so," Iris pressed on. "This is kinda urgent."

"I really have to get home, Detective," Meleesa replied. She unlocked a ring of keys from her belt loop and made her way towards the counter's exit.

Iris blocked her path, causing Meleesa to jerk back. She wasn't exactly sure why she was acting like this – so _rash_ – but she wanted answers and she wanted them _now_. Meleesa was the one who brought this stupid necklace to her. She had to know _something_.

"You _really_ don't understand how important this is," Iris huffed. "I need to know who donated this necklace."

"I _told you_ ," Meleesa said while shoving past the detective, "it was an anonymous benefactor."

"How? Why?" She continued, plucking a pamphlet from a pile next to the register. Iris followed the owner to the front entrance, where she was setting up the security lock. "It says in _here_ that in order to donate to St. Anne's, your items must be clean and washed, and you must provide your information to contact you. All donators will receive twenty percent of their sale. You _need_ a donator's identity."

Meleesa swiftly turned in her direction, and Iris backed up the slightest bit. "I _know_ how it goes. But like I've said _dozens_ of times, the donator was _anonymous_. The package was left outside the door with no information. I thought it could make me a good profit, and I wouldn't have to give the benefactor their percentage of sales because there was no identity attached to it. I usually don't accept donations like that, _and_ the necklace never made any money anyways, but it was too beautiful to pass up." She reached out and curled her fingers over the turquoise pendant. "And look, now it's beautiful on _you_."

Iris followed Meleesa out as she turned off the lights and locked the door from the outside. She slapped her hands at her sides. "You _must_ know something –"

"Why are you so interested?" The owner raised an inquisitive brow. "What's wrong with it?"

She closed her hand over the stone, voice lowering to a whisper, "Nothing."

"Then I think our conversation is over," Meleesa said, a soft smile tugging at the edge of her lips. For a second, Iris thought she saw a flash of pity in her eyes, like she _knew_ something was wrong, but was too scared to say it. "Goodnight, Detective."

With a roll of her eyes, Iris turned around and wiggled her fingers in the owner's direction. "Goodnight, Meleesa," she sighed, heading for Dick's car around the corner.

Iris did, admittedly, feel a little defeated as she sauntered back to her ride. She stuck her hands in her pockets and dipped her head inside the collar of her parka, protecting herself against the harsh chill. Maybe it was stupid to assume that Meleesa had the answers she was looking for – I mean, she _had_ told her originally that the donator was unknown – but she was her only option at the moment. The last thing Iris wanted was an old WordPress blog to be the source of all her current information.

Why would someone want to donate this necklace in the first place? To burden a random person? Did the benefactor know about what this necklace could do? Why would they send it anonymously when they could've received a percentage of the sales?

Iris Kingsley was a realist. She knew that she'd never get the answers to her questions.

As she rounded the corner of St. Anne's, she noticed Dick leaning against the driver's side of his car. She shook her head. Sometimes, he made it seem like he was trying too hard to look cool, or maybe his awkwardness made him oblivious to that fact. She didn't really know. Iris stalked over, opening her mouth to call out his name, but then she was rendered speechless.

A hand clasped itself over her mouth.

Iris' shriek was muffled against the large hand that was suddenly yanking her backward. She saw Dick's head turn towards her before everything went black. Someone had put a bag over her head. She began to punch the air around her, hoping she'd make impact with a body, but there was nothing. She felt powerless without her sight.

"IRIS!" Dick hollered. He sounded a million miles away.

The people behind her started speaking a language she didn't know. It sounded like Spanish, but there was something off about it.

This was _not_ happening. Absolutely not. Iris Kingsley wasn't a victim and never would be.

She clenched her hands tightly, ripping herself away from the grip that tried to pull her away. Iris swung her leg out and her foot collided with someone's gut just a few feet from her. She felt another presence behind her. She heard the _whoosh_ of their arms trying to wrap themselves around her neck. Iris trusted her instincts before whirling around and sending her fist into their face.

She ripped the bag off her head, blinking her eyes enough to focus on someone beating a guy with a ski mask into the ground. Her hands began to burn and throb, but for the first time, she was _grateful_ to see the lights. Her necklace felt heavy against her neck, but the weight just reminded her that this was _real_ , and she wasn't going to die in this nightmare.

She turned slowly, eyes flashing a bright turquoise color as she faced the group of rogues, all adorning the same ski masks. From what she could see under their masks, it looked like they were wearing the same necklace. As she flexed her hands, she wondered if she could use their jewelry to strangle them.

It felt like someone – or _something_ – had taken over her body. Before Iris could think, she lifted her hand, and the blue light gripped one of the rogues so tightly that they went rigid. The other two could only watch. Iris did the same action to another one, and with a flick of her wrist, they were tossed against the brick wall to her right.

The last one whipped his head in her direction. They were frozen in place.

Four men down. Two more a few feet behind her, fighting with who she presumed was Dick in the back ally. One left to go.

The person turned away, lifting their leg to sprint off in the opposite direction, but Iris was suddenly faster. She locked her arm around the person's throat, dragging them back into the moonlight. They looked up at her from the small eye holes in their ski mask, and they were full of fear. Iris never had someone look at her like that before. It made her a little scared too.

She locked her fingers around the silver necklace, bringing it out into the light. A small, turquoise stone in the shape of a droplet dangled from the chain. Her bright eyes flickered back to the culprit, full of rage and fury, and when she spoke, her voice sounded like she was talking through a bullhorn: "Who are you?! Why won't you leave me _alone_?!"

The culprit could only lift their hands in surrender. Iris was impatient and tired of waiting.

"FUCK YOU!" She screeched, twisting the necklace just enough to hold them there. The person started to choke in her grip. Iris let her instinct take over, and she brought her hand down, allowing the intense light to hover right over the person's eyes. Before she knew it, the culprit was screaming, eyes turning a stark white.

She was making them _blind_.

The longer she held her hand there, the worse it got. Iris clenched her teeth, watching the person's eyes burn and decay. Blood bubbled from underneath their lashes and spilled onto the thick, cotton mask. She didn't care about their identity, their story; she just wanted to watch them burn. These people – whoever they were – had to be after her and she would _not_ let herself become a black and white photo on the front page of the Detroit Free Press.

The person fell limp in her grasp. She released them quickly, refusing to let even a drop blood touch her hands. But it would always be there, like a constant reminder of all her regrets. Iris looked around the area, wanting to scream and shout at the destruction she caused. She knew, however, that having a frantic episode would not help. Iris took in a deep breath and allowed her whole body to relax.

The lights dimmed. Her necklace settled against her chest. Everything felt normal again.

When she opened her eyes, Iris heard one last punch and a haunting grunt. She licked her lips, approaching the back alley where the sounds had resonated from. "Dick?" She called out, walking with caution. "I think – I think I did something _really_ –"

But the person that came out of the ally wasn't Dick. It was someone else entirely. Someone that Iris would've never remotely associated with Dick. Someone she once thought was a myth.

It was Robin. Like, Batman's _Robin_.

Dick Grayson was Robin.


	11. THE BED TROPE 2.0

#### CHAPTER TEN

##### THE BED TROPE 2.0

#####  **__________________________**

**"I** know how this looks," Dick breathed out, but Iris hardly registered his words.

She blinked rapidly. For a second, she wondered if this was just the darkness playing tricks on her, creating an image from her own nightmare. I mean, this couldn't be real, _right_? She would pinch herself, but she couldn't quite move a muscle. His stare had frozen her in place – dark, caramel eyes burning into hers through a black mask. Those were the same eyes that she saw almost every day. The same eyes that once stared at her with such malice, and now looked at her with a little bit of hope. The same eyes she was starting to like.

It was the masked vigilante. It was Batman's partner. It was Robin. It was _Dick Grayson_.

Dick Grayson – the detective, the _dick_ head, Iris Kingsley's almost-archenemy – was _Robin_.

Iris pulled her phone out from her pocket and shined the flashlight in front of her. Dick put his hand out, blocking the light from his eyes. She exhaled heavily, breath filtering out into the cold air. "Are you fucking with me right now?"

"I –" He took a step forward and looked down at his attire. Iris eyed the golden _R_ emblem on his chest, and blood started to crust beneath the stitching. "I really don't know what to say."

"Well, you could start by explaining why the _hell_ you're dressed up as Robin."

Dick shook his head, stalking towards Iris before latching a gloved hand over her arm. "Not right now," he muttered, dragging her back over to the Porsche. For the first time, she let him, simply because she wasn't sure if she could move without his steady grasp. She felt stunned. Not only had she just _killed_ a guy – at least, she _assumed_ she did – but she also just found out her coworker was _Batman's sidekick_. All in one night.

Why, oh _why_ , was her life now turning into one big clusterfuck?

Dick flung the passenger door open and practically shoved Iris into her seat. He reached over her lap, trying to connect the seatbelt together, but she was already pushing his hands out of the way. "I got it! I got it!" She said harshly. "I'm alright! Just fucking _drive_!"

He sighed and shut the door. Sprinting towards the other side, Dick jumped into the driver's seat and ripped his mask off. Iris watched sweaty tufts of hair cover his face as he put the car in drive. She swallowed hard, praying to whatever kind of fucking God in this world that her lights _wouldn't_ show up right now. Her hands throbbed slightly, but nothing emerged. She formed her hands into fists and pushed herself back into the seat as Dick launched the car forward.

"Can you answer a serious question for me?" He asked, voice breaking ever so slightly. "Did you kill those guys?"

Iris couldn't look him. She gripped the edges of her seat so tightly that she was sure her knuckles were turning white. This wasn't the first time she had blood on her hands, but it felt different now.

"One," she whispered. "I think."

"You _think_?"

Iris chewed on her bottom lip. Her knuckles got whiter.

"I think – _God_! These things are so _fucking_ annoying!" He ripped off the latex gloves that looked like they were practically glued to his hands. Iris noticed that he was increasing speed, running through several red lights. Car horns blew from every direction. "I think you're in danger."

"From _what_ exactly?"

He glanced at her for a moment and took in the growing fear in her eyes. "I don't know." He gripped the wheel tightly, finally coming to a jolting stop at a red light. Iris held onto the window for balance. "That doesn't matter right now. You're staying at my place tonight."

"Absolutely _not_!" She snapped, whipping her head in his direction. "I need to go home. I need to rest and not think of this. Shower and sleep in my own bed –"

"This is not something you can forget about, Iris!" He slapped the edge of the wheel. "Something is _very_ wrong. You and I know for a fact that that wasn't just some random attack. There were several people. It was _orchestrated_."

Iris gulped. "They all had the same necklace on too. The stone on it looked like mine, but a lot smaller."

"Someone is tracking you," Dick clarified, tone growing calmer, "and where you live is not safe now. Do you get _that_? It's important to me that you understand the words coming out of my mouth."

She turned away, wrapping her arms around her torso. Her hands clenched into fists again, and she felt her teeth grind together. This was absolutely ridiculous. She understood the risks of going back home. She wasn't stupid. But Iris was so goddamn _tired_ , and fuck him for simply not letting her fall asleep in the comfort of her own sheets.

 _I need a cigarette_ , she thought doubtfully.

"Doesn't matter anyway," he muttered while shifting the gear in park. "We're here."

Iris hadn't even realized he had pulled into a parking garage. She looked out the window at the several story garage, eyes widening as she wondered where _the fuck_ Dick Grayson lived.

"You coming?"

He was waiting for her outside the car already, adorning a long, black coat that successfully hid the Robin attire underneath. Iris knitted her brow together before finally opening her door and sliding out of the passenger seat. She took a moment to walk in a circle, eyeing the _moderately_ expensive cars that littered around the large parking lot. When she noticed Dick walking away, she sprinted to catch up with him.

"This seems like a nice place," she commented, following him inside a small room that opened to an elevator. It looked like it was made from solid steel.

"It's alright," he shrugged, and she wasn't sure if he was just being an asshole or really humble. "It was gifted to me. I don't really like gifts."

Iris arched a brow as she walked inside the elevator. "This was _gifted_ to you?"

"Kind of," he sighed, pressing the button for the eighth floor. "I don't really wanna talk about it."

"Fair," she huffed, though her tone was begging for more. Her eyes flickered to the rows of buttons. There were _twenty floors_ in this building? This was something else entirely compared to her shitbox of an apartment!

After a few short seconds, the elevator doors flew open, revealing a long corridor with only five doors on both sides. Dick led her down to the last door, and Iris almost felt unworthy to have her feet touch the expensive carpet that covered the hallway. He stuck his key in the lock and turned, holding the door wide open for her. She hesitated before walking in, eyes widening at the sight before her.

His apartment was _huge_. Maybe a little dysfunctional, but huge nonetheless. A large windowpane covered the entire wall on her left, drawing her in with a perfect view of the Detroit city lights at night. His kitchen was big, taking up most of the space in the first room, while the living area was placed in back of that. A long corridor stretched down to reveal multiple other rooms right next to the kitchen. Beside the door, Iris noticed he made a little workout alcove. She circled around the punching bag and plucked an _R_ -shaped dart from the surface.

She held it out between two fingers, and he took it quickly, stuffing it inside the inside pocket of his coat. "Sorry," he whispered.

"I don't care," she replied, approaching the large window. Iris marveled at the blinking lights of the city like it was the last thing she'd ever see. "This is so amazing. Why don't you like it here?"

He plunged his hands inside the front pockets of his coat. They were inches away when he stood beside her. "I never said I didn't like it here."

"You didn't have to." She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head slightly. "I'm an _observer_."

Dick licked his lips, taking a moment to stare at her before walking off. She almost didn't want to take her eyes off the view, but she turned her head at the right time to see him flagging her over with a wave of his hand. "Follow me."

With a swift nod, Iris shadowed his steps down the long hallway. There were about three doors down this way. One: a large bathroom. Two: some sort of linen cellar that it didn't look like he used. And three: the master bedroom. Iris lingered by the doorframe, taking in the large room with bright, wide eyes. The master even came with its own bathroom. It was covered wall-to-wall in black curtains, shielding them from the world, while a big ol' California King sat in the middle, adorned in messy blue sheets.

"Sorry, _again_ ," he said, running over to the mattress and fixing the comforter. Iris finally noticed his presence when he spoke. "I didn't expect anyone to come over tonight."

She ignored his apology, and instead walked over to the large bed to plop herself down on it. Iris smiled while running her hands down the soft sheets. "Egyptian cotton," she noted with a grin, and fell back onto the bed, releasing a content sigh. "Maybe this _is_ better than my own bed."

When she lifted her head, she realized he was standing several feet away, hesitating by the long curtain that hung from the ceiling. He shrugged, "It's alright."

Iris raised a brow. "Are you _trying_ to be humble? Most people would kill for a place like this, Dick."

He shrugged again. The gesture was starting to annoy her.

"Well," she huffed, getting to her feet. "It doesn't matter. I'll go take the couch. I don't doubt that it's just as comfortable as this mattress."

She turned on her heel to walk out the bedroom, but Dick was suddenly speeding towards her, clamping a hand on her shoulder. "Iris," he sighed, as if her name was a prayer, flowing off the tip of his tongue. She looked over at the hand that rested on her. "Take the bed, okay? It's no big deal."

"Are we _really_ having this argument again?" She exhaled. "It's getting kind of old."

Dick slid his hand off, but his stance still remained.

Iris frowned, "You've already taken the couch once."

"I'm just a couch kind of guy."

"Did _Batman_ let you sleep on his couch too?"

Dick furrowed his brow. "That literally has nothing to do with this."

She rolled her eyes, glancing back over at the mattress. It looked so comfortable, and all she wanted was to shut her eyes for the rest of the night. Rubbing at her lids, Iris viewed back at him and pointed over to the large bed. "Just sleep on the other side. The bed's big enough to fit three people. It doesn't matter to me."

Dick shook his head, chuckling under his breath. Iris knitted her thick brows together, wondering why he was laughing at her, but he beat her to it. "Why are you so stubborn when I'm just trying to be nice?"

"Stop deflecting," she scoffed, padding over to the California King. Iris ripped off her boots and jacket before flipping the covers over.

"Don't you want – I don't know –" He looked around the room. "A different pair of clothes to wear? You really want to sleep in dress pants and a sweater?"

She placed her hands on her hips. "You know what I want, _babe_? To sleep." Iris jumped up and settled herself into the sheets. It didn't take her long to curl the warm comforter around her freezing body. "Goodnight."

Dick laughed again before flipping the light switch and enveloping the room in a blanket of darkness. He strode towards the master bathroom and shut the door, but light still leaked from below the door. Iris didn't mind. She simply smiled and buried herself into the pillow, inhaling the sweet scent that lingered on the sheets. For a moment, she wondered why the smell was so familiar, and then she remembered that she was sleeping in her _coworker's bed_ and how this _might_ be wrong on so many levels, but she didn't really care all that much.

The scent was memorable. It smelt musky with a hint of sweetness, like ripe apples – the forbidden fruit. It smelt like home.

Eventually, Dick retreated from the bathroom and padded his feet towards the edge of the bed. She felt the weight of his body sink down on the mattress. For a mere _second_ , Iris cracked one eye open and looked over her shoulder at him. He sighed and rubbed at his eyelids before pulling at the collar of his t-shirt in irritation. She hardly saw him in anything but a suit. When Iris noticed he was turning to look at her, she pressed herself back into the pillow again, shutting her eyes immediately. Dick smiled softly and fell onto the pillows on the far side of the bed.

Iris swallowed hard. The size of a California King was truly mystifying, and although there was a huge distance between both of them, she had never felt closer, as if they were sleeping cheek-to-cheek. Iris flipped onto her back, turning her head to look at him again. His spine was facing her.

"Dick," she called, frustration leaking from her tone, "you're going to tell me more about the Robin stuff tomorrow, _right_?"

" _Yes_ ," he groaned. "Goodnight, Iris."

She was asleep within minutes, sinking deep into the comfort of his sheets. Dick waited until he heard her snores to finally shut his eyes. He needed to know she was okay before he could rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it wasn't obvious by now, I LOOOOOOVEEEEE cliché tropes ☺️


	12. BAD BREAKUP

#### CHAPTER ELEVEN

##### BAD BREAKUP

#####  **__________________________**

**THERE'S** a kind of simplicity to falling asleep to someone's heartbeat. The feeling of their chest rising and falling against your head, combined with the steady beat of their heart – it was an ASMR lover's dream.

Iris wasn't sure how she ended up in that position, but somehow, her body rolled around enough during the night and her head collided with someone's chest. It was a soft clash, though – a mere bump that neither of them noticed as their tired bodies tangled with each other on the California King. Iris snored softly, listening to the rhythm of the person's heart beneath her ear. It was magnetic; it was _hypnotizing_. She was back asleep in just a few minutes.

But when she woke up, she noticed the heartbeat was gone, and she was left in the California King bed while the birds chirped loudly for the incoming morning. Iris was used to disappointment like this.

Rubbing underneath her nose, Iris sat up and uncurled herself from the warm comforter. She had been laying in the middle of the mattress, settled beneath the sheets, when the sound of a coffee machine awoke her. The scent of crushed coffee beans called out to her, making it very easy to slide herself out of bed. She fidgeted with the collar of her sweater before realizing she got major wrinkles in her dress pants during the night. (She had always been kind of a rough sleeper.)

Iris unlocked her phone on the bedside table. It was Saturday. Thank _God_ ,she didn't have to worry about going into work like this.

She padded softly down the long corridor to the kitchen, where she found Dick struggling to scramble a few eggs. He kept turning the dials up and down on his stove, even jumping back when the pan started to produce smoke. Iris hung by the doorframe, almost hidden by the large refrigerator, and laughed quietly to herself. Dick Grayson had good hearing, though, and suddenly whirled around at the sound of her chuckle.

"I – uh –" He sprinted over to the coffee machine and poured some of the hot liquid into an empty mug. "I made coffee."

"I _know_ ," she emphasized, taking the cup gratefully. "It woke me up."

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. "God, I really _hate_ this thing. This is why I go Jillian's every day for coffee."

Iris held up a hand and placed herself on top of one of the stools at the kitchen island. "Don't worry about it. I overslept anyways."

"Oh," he smiled, turning back to the steaming eggs, "then, you're welcome."

She rolled her eyes while taking a large gulp from the mug. Immediately, she felt her whole body buzz with life, and Iris wondered if there would ever be a day when coffee wouldn't have that magical effect on her. (She hoped not.) Setting the cup onto the marble island, Iris narrowed her eyes, practically gawking at the tight t-shirt that Dick was still wearing from the night before. As he fought with the scrambled eggs in the pan, Iris allowed her eyes to wander down his frame, noticing the way his plaid pants hugged his butt just right. She almost choked on her coffee as she questioned if he wore those all night or slept without –

 _Oh, my God, shut up!_ Her conscious scoffed at the carnal thoughts running through her brain. _Are you really thinking about if your coworker sleeps naked? Aren't there more important things to focus on?_

 _Hey, listen_ , she fought back, _I'm in a shit place right now and I need a distraction. I may hate him most of the time, but I can admit that he's eye candy. And also annoying. More annoying than the eye candy part._

"How do you like your eggs?" Dick asked.

Iris pressed her teeth against the rim of her mug, admiring his backside like it was some goddamn Renaissance painting. God, she needed to get a life.

"Uh – Iris?"

She blinked rapidly, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "Huh?"

"I asked how you like your eggs."

"I don't like eggs."

Dick looked down at the pan in his tight grip and shut the burner off. "Well, metaphorically, if you liked eggs ... would you like them scrambled?"

She frowned. "I don't know about that –"

"I think you should eat these scrambled eggs," he said, scooping the dish onto a plate and placing it in front of her. She recoiled her lip back in disgust. "Hey, I know you didn't have dinner last night. You should eat now."

He had a point. Despite the sudden churning in her stomach, Iris stabbed her fork into the eggs and stuffed them into her mouth. She had never been too fond of the texture of scrambled eggs, but these weren't that bad. A little burnt, but not bad.

"Good?" He asked, and she lifted two thumbs. Dick laughed at the smile she forced upon her lips. "Great."

"Don't you think we have more important things to discuss than my stance on scrambled eggs?"

Dick arched a brow.

"You said last night you would tell me about being Robin," she clarified. "Unless ... you're one of those cosplayers that dress up like him for fun. But you seemed to be taking the art of costuming a bit too seriously last night."

"It's not cosplay," he huffed, leaning against the refrigerator, "and I'm not Robin."

Iris tilted her head to the side.

"Okay, I _was_ Robin, but I'm not anymore."

"So you're _not_ Robin, but you still wear the outfit?"

"Listen, it's really complicated, Iris, and I don't think this is the time –"

She set down her coffee. "If it's so complicated, then fucking explain it to me!"

He looked away. Iris noticed the quick rise and fall of his chest. His jaw clenched, but he held it all in, afraid to throw a similar outburst towards her.

"You gotta understand that ..." He shook his head. "When I decided to become Robin, I used it as a way out. My parents died when I was young, and I was desperate to find out answers. I _knew_ it was murder, but the police thought otherwise. Batman took me in as his own, and although I hated every minute of living in that house, him offering me the role of Robin was the only way for me to get answers."

"So, wait," Iris pressed a finger down on the marble table, "Batman _adopted_ you after your parents died?"

Dick nodded. "I really didn't have much of a choice. It was either him or back to an orphanage. I wasn't about to become one of those kids bouncing from place to place."

"What about your parents' death?" She questioned further. "Did becoming Robin at least help you find their killer?"

"Um –" He rubbed the back of his neck, reverting his stare away from her. Iris leaned forward and lifted a brow. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

Both brows shot up now. She bit her lip with anticipation. " _And?_ "

Dick licked at his bottom lip. "His name doesn't matter anymore," he replied softly, spinning around to place the dirty pan in the sink. "At the time, I was fighting alongside my good friends in this ... crimefighting group and they begged me not to look into him. I didn't listen. I found him early last year and he was arrested. But then he gave Gotham PD some information on a local crime family, and they ended up releasing him. So I ..."

He had been scrubbing at the gunk stuck to the bottom of the pan ruthlessly, but promptly stopped himself when he realized what he was doing. Dick straightened his back and stared ahead at the window placed right in front of his kitchen counter, still refusing to look at Iris.

"So I found out where he was living and planned to kill him," he continued. "I didn't, though. I beat him pretty good – almost to the point of death – but I was interrupted by a member of the crime family he outed to the cops. The guy shot him and I was gone before anyone could spot me.

"I finally came to the realization that my years with Batman really fucked me up. I felt like his methods were vengeful and I would soon be corrupted by violence, just like him. The only way out was to leave Gotham all together. It was the best thing to do." Dick released a heavy sigh and rinsed off the pan before placing it delicately in a rack. "That's how I ended up in Detroit this year."

Iris played with the eggs on her plate. "And why _Detroit_ of all places?"

"It's close to home," he answered, far too quickly. "In case I'm needed."

"By _needed_ , do you mean in case Batman needs you?"

He turned, finally meeting her grey irises yet again. " _No_ , I'm done fighting with him." He shook his head firmly. "I'm not opposed to teams, but never with him. It's over."

"Sounds like a bad breakup, if you ask me," Iris quipped, looking back down at her plate.

His stare narrowed, and he raised a brow while wondering if the thoughts floating in his head were safe enough to voice out loud. Dick didn't think it hurt to try. This would definitely be stepping out of his comfort zone – _especially_ , since he came to Detroit for a fresh start – but he always knew that wouldn't last for long. Crimefighting was like an ex that you still called back every once in a while.

"We could make a good team, you know."

Iris' stare flickered upward. "Huh?"

"Me and you," he repeated, pointing to each of their chests. "We could make a good team."

She released a nervous chuckle, attempting to hold it back by pressing her palm to her mouth. "You're not serious, _right_?" Iris shook her head, but the look in Dick's eyes told her otherwise. "Unless you're talking about at work, then _no way_. I'm not some 'superhero,' Dick. I'm dangerous." She pulled at the chain bound to her neck. " _This_ is dangerous?"

Dick brought his head down and laughed softly.

"Why are you _laughing_?"

"Because," he lifted one side of his mouth into a smile, "someone once told me that I have a thing for dangerous women."

Iris blinked. The tension in the room was thick and she suddenly felt too awkward to say anything. Instead, she stuffed her mouth with more scrambled eggs.

"I'm just saying ..." He continued with a shrug. "I think if we work together more we could save people. But only if you let me in. That'll kill you more than a bullet."

She swallowed hard. His words were true, but held too much hope for the future. She couldn't – no, she _wouldn't_ – promise to make a change like that. Iris was fine with complete independence and if they left her alone for the rest of her life, then so be it. She didn't want to let him in.

So she deflected. "You want us to be like Batman and Robin, huh?"

Dick's expression hardened. "No, never again."

"Well," she huffed, sliding off her chair and placing the plate of eggs beside him, "not interested. But thanks, though."

Dick rolled his eyes, spinning around once he realized she was heading back to the master bedroom. He reached out and gripped her arm. Iris turned back with a narrowed brow. "Hey, Iris, listen –"

"No, _you_ listen, Dick." His hold wasn't tight, and she easily slipped her arm out of it. For a second, she wished he held on longer. "The less people you let in, the less you get hurt. So I suggest you find someone else to play dress-up with."

He stuck his hands in his front pockets and refused to say a word. His expression remained blank.

"I'll just ..." She twirled on her heel. "I'll get my things and leave."

#####  **__________________________**

Iris kept telling herself that this was definitely an on-the-clock mission.

However, she wasn't confident in that assumption. Surely, visiting your former neighbor that you arrested in jail was part of her job description. It wasn't like she was doing this for _fun_. She didn't even want to be doing this anyway, but she _had_ to. She knew that she did. Josh had to know _something_ , and if Iris had to offer him some bail money to get it out of him, she would. The situation was bigger than jails and petty crimes, especially since she now had a necklace permanently clasped to her neck that harnessed some kind of weird power.

Josh was currently being held in a local jail on the outskirts of the city until his hearing in a few months. She received some intel once she showed her badge to one of the dimwitted officers within the jail, and apparently, Josh was going to request a lighter sentence during that hearing. They were betting the judge would give him at least fifteen years for armed robbery and he was going to ask for ten. Iris couldn't blame him. She assumed that whoever he was with were forcing him to enact the crime – but that was only an assumption.

Usually, she would fill out a visitor application form to visit an inmate, but things kind of change when you flash your badge to the director in charge. He led her through the narrow corridors of the jail, far away from where the inmates were located, all the way to the visitor center, where the room was divided by a see-through wall between the inmate and the visitor. The wall also served as a long table with slots placed in between for privacy. In all her years of being on the force, Iris only had to do this a few times. The sight of cracks within the glass wall caused sweat to form underneath her armpits.

She was asked to sit down in the last chair at the table. Iris chewed on her bottom lip as she waited for Josh's arrival. She noticed another visitor speaking with an inmate just a few rows down from her and their hands were both pressed against the glass. Iris curled her lip in disgust as she wondered how many germs lingered on the wall.

Just a few minutes later, a door swung open on the other side, and in walked Joshua Zuma in all his orange jumpsuit glory. Iris swallowed hard while watching him stalk up to the table, pull out the chair so slowly that the bottoms screeched against the floor, and sat down.

They stared at each other for a minute. Both completely frozen in place; both not knowing who should move first. Josh's stare was hardened and bruised, as if they had completely switched roles. Iris took a deep breath in and pushed a few hair out of her face before picking up the phone on her side of the table. Josh followed her lead.

"Hey," she huffed out.

His voice lacked any kind of emotion he once had: "Hi."

A beat of silence emerged. "I – um –" She laced her hands on top of the table. "I heard this is the nicest jail around –"

"Can we stop beating around the bush?" He asked, clearly exasperated. The bags under his eyes were heavy and dark. "Why are _you_ here?"

Iris frowned. "Can a girl not visit her _ex_ -neighbor in jail?"

"Not when she was the one who got him arrested in the first place," he quipped. "Are you on the clock?"

She cleared her throat, looking down at her hands. " _Technically_ , yes," she whispered, lifting her head again to meet his eyes. He had one brow raised with suspicion. "But I'm here for personal reasons."

Josh sat back in his seat. His arching brow urged her to continue.

"I need to know why you were at St. Anne's that night," she replied. Iris paused, feeling for the necklace on her collar, only to realize that it was hidden beneath her turtleneck. "I need to know more about the people you were with and why you wanted that necklace."

"I'm not talking about the incident with _anyone_ until I have my lawyer present."

"I'm not speaking to you right now as a fucking cop, Josh." Her grip on the phone tightened, and she found herself leaning into the glass. "I'm here as a person who needs answers."

Josh squinted. "Why do you care so much?"

Iris closed her eyes for a moment. "Just _answer the questions_."

"Not until you tell me what I get out of it."

Her eyes snapped open, grey irises zeroing in on the person before her. She tilted her head to the side. Iris would've never pegged him as a negotiator, but she guessed you don't get much from a person that you only see for five minutes every day.

"Well," she sighed, "what do you want? Bail money?"

"No way," he said, shaking his head. "This place is my only escape from out there. Last thing I want to do is get out anytime soon. I'm only requesting a lighter sentence in a few months because my lawyer says it'll make me look more innocent." He looked around before leaning more into the glass. His mouth twitched slightly. "I want you to put in a good word for me with the warden. I want a single."

Iris lifted a brow. "You want me to get you a cell all to yourself?" She asked, and he nodded again as a silent answer. "Okay, done. Answer my questions now."

"Promise?"

She groaned, "Yes, I promise. Pinky swear. Swear on my life. Now, _answer_."

Josh licked his lips. He rubbed at the outside of his eyelids, and Iris could hear him breathing heavily through the phone's speaker. Her leg wouldn't stop bouncing up and down. She had never felt so on edge. Whatever he was about to say next could either make or break the situation.

He exhaled heavily, "I can't tell you much –"

"Are you _kidding_ me?!" She exclaimed, and the couple a few rows down turned their way. Iris scowled in their direction before questioning Josh, "What do you _mean_ by _that_?"

"If I tell you, someone is gonna find out. Don't ask me how. Someone just _will_. And once I do that, my ass is on the line, and it won't end well." Josh's nostrils flared. " _He_ has guys _everywhere_."

Iris blinked, slowing glancing to the other couple in the room. They were looking at them again. She swallowed hard and whispered, "Tell me what you can."

Josh bit down, viewing away for a moment, almost considering to hang up the phone. They probably had three minutes left, and if he didn't get at least _something_ out, he knew Iris wouldn't fulfill her end of the bargain. Josh looked back at her anxious stare.

"The night you arrested me was when everything was supposed to come together," he began. "I was just instructed to go in with my guys, get the necklace, and leave. He told us this necklace was going to be our sole connection to _Xiuhtecuhtli_ , and a new world would arise at our hands."

 _The necklace_ , she noted. _He's talking about my necklace. I know it._

"Who is –" She waved a finger around. "– That name you just said?"

"I can't tell you that."

Iris hung her head low. "Then what more _can_ you tell me, Josh?"

"Nothing else," he muttered low. "Honestly, Iris, just be glad he isn't coming for you after you got one of his pupils arrested. Then again, he doesn't really give a shit about anyone but himself."

"I don't understand," she said, running a hand through her matted hair. "Who is _he_?"

Josh's eyes softened. Iris released an aggravated sigh.

"I gotta go, Iris," Josh whispered with a smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Thanks for all the help."

Iris' mouth dropped as she watched Josh hang up the phone. A guard tapped him on the shoulder and escorted him out. Josh sent her a pitiful look over his shoulder before disappearing from the visiting center. With a groan, Iris smacked the phone back in place and sank low in her seat.

She really couldn't imagine this getting any worse. Maybe it was time to start knocking on wood.


	13. THE COATLS

#### CHAPTER TWELVE

##### THE COATLS

#####  **__________________________**

**IT** wasn't that hard to convince the warden of the county jail to allow Josh to have a single. Apparently, he was already a well-mannered inmate, and the warden had heard that Detective Kingsley was one of the most trusted on the force. Once she mentioned her past "friendship" – or whatever you want to call it – with Joshua Zuma, the warden had no problem with giving him a single.

She hoped this wasn't something she could get in trouble for. However, she merely presented it as a _suggestion_.

Iris knew that she needed to get a grip. While Dick did have _somewhat_ of a point that she couldn't ignore something like this, he didn't realize that that was simply the only way she could cope. What she needed to do was bury herself into her work again, like old times. She needed to go to the station with her hair half-brushed and maybe a stain on her dress pants, sit in on one of those stupid meetings where the Chief liked to hear himself talk, take the train home and listen to the same man laugh over and over again, and then retire for the night in her shitty apartment with a box of cold pizza and another rerun of _Friends_. Normalcy – that's _exactly_ what she needed.

She hustled her way to the station after quickly running off the train platform. She had to be cautious while still maintaining her usual sprint, due to black ice was already littering the ground. Icicles hung from the roofs of independent shops and pharmacies, signaling a winter storm that would soon be upon them. Iris only hugged her scarf closer to her face.

Her feet were moving so fast, and it was amazing that she even thought to glance in the direction of the newspaper rack sitting just outside the station's entrance. She almost didn't notice it – I mean, why _would_ she? Iris only read the paper on Sundays. But for some reason, her eyes wavered in that direction, and suddenly, her whole body was moving towards the rack. Through the frost-covered glass, she could see the headline of today's Detroit Free Press:

_TRAGEDY STRIKES LOCAL_   
_VINTAGE STORE ONCE AGAIN:_   
_MAN FOUND DEAD OUTSIDE ITS DOORS!_

Iris swallowed, hoping that this was just some kind of sick joke being played on her, but everything was too real. She wiped away the frost with her gloves, and the paper was still there, burning into her eye sockets like a form of torment. Did she really not expect this to happen? How could she be so foolish? She was only practicing self-defense. Who _knows_ what those men would've done if they got their slimy hands on her? But _why_ – for the love of God – did she think this wouldn't get reported?

False hope, she guessed.

It didn't matter. She was going to ignore this, like everything else. She needed to pretend. Pretending allowed her to be normal. She couldn't be tracked to this crime – it wasn't like she even _touched_ him.

 _No, you just burned his eyes and killed him from the inside out_ , her conscious reminded.

Iris scoffed, looking around and heading for the entrance once again. _Shut up_ , she retorted back.

She didn't know how Dick realized she wanted to be left alone today. Maybe it was the scowl on her face once she entered the office. Maybe it was the glare she sent towards Mr. Angeles when he tried to approach her after her lunch break. Could be anything. Whatever it was, he steered clear of her. Sometimes, he wondered if he should ask her to walk with him to Jillian's Coffee, just as a friendly gesture – they were friends now, _right_? – but today was certainly not that day.

She got what she needed to get done. She contacted a few witnesses for comment on the "body found by the river" case. And then, once it hit six, she left for the usual six-thirty train home. Everything had gone completely normal that day, as if Iris wasn't wearing some weird necklace that gave her powers or how she managed to kill someone just a few nights ago.

(She was, however, surprised at the fact that she managed to not think about any of that all day. Maybe this pretending thing was easier than she thought. If Dick Grayson could pretend he wasn't Robin for who knows how long, Iris Kingsley could do the same.)

The platform wasn't as crazy as it would be on a Thursday evening. For some reason, Thursdays were when the train was the busiest, and Iris usually had to fight her way to the doors. Today, a few people loitered around the platform, mostly on their phones, scarves pulled up to the tip of their noses to brave against the cold. Iris looked the same as them, but she managed to look up from her phone for a split second to realize how quiet it was. Nobody made a sound, not even the homeless woman that liked to play the drums on her platform.

Once the train pulled up to a screeching stop, there was no shoving to get to the door. Iris plugged in her earbuds and walked leisurely into the last train cart. She turned her head while entering and noticed the rest of the small crowd hanging by the platform. Were people avoiding the trains today for some reason unbeknownst to her?

With a furrowed brow, Iris took her usual seat at one end of the train cart. For the first time _ever_ , it was empty. Deserted. Barren. Uninhabited. Iris walked past the vacant seats slowly, taking in a sight that was completely _mind-boggling_ to her. Once she had taken her familiar seat, she plucked her earbuds out for a second, listening to the quiet that filled the cart. All she could hear was the cold wind blowing outside. Iris turned her head to see if the cart before her was crowded, but all she saw was her own reflection staring back at her through the window.

There was no one here. Not even the elderly man that laughed to himself every goddamn day.

She was psyching herself out. Whatever weird feeling she was having – it was _nothing_. Iris popped her earbuds back in and sunk back into her seat. She just needed to get through this twenty-minute train ride, then she'd be home for the night. Maybe she'd even have that leftover spaghetti for dinner tonight –

Just as the doors were about to close, a man slid inside. The train lurched forward, slamming all doors closed, but Iris ignored the outside world with the loud music blasting into her ears. In fact, she hardly even noticed the only other person inside the cart until he was standing right in front of her, waiting to get her attention.

She viewed up. The man in front of her was short, yet stout, with golden skin and a shiny bald head. His eyes were black and void of any emotion, while his lips quirked slightly into a lopsided grin. He wore a grey, tailored suit. Probably from some expensive brand, like Tom Ford or Giorgio Armani.

Iris took out her earbuds and arched an inquisitive brow. "Can I help you?"

The train cart was absolutely empty, besides the two of them. It was quiet – _too quiet_.

"Iris Kingsley," he spoke in a thick accent that she didn't recognize.

Iris swallowed hard. She carefully threw her earbuds into her bag, finding her ring of keys at the bottom of the endless pit. Her fingers locked around them. "How do you know who I am?"

The man chuckled softly, but there was something about it that made her feel so uneasy. Iris' ears were ringing now. The silence around her was truly deafening.

"We all know who you are, Iris."

 _Oh, fuck no_. This guy was part of Josh's network – whatever that fucking was. They were coming back for her. They wanted her for something. They were tracking her.

The necklace was heavy against her chest now. Iris stood up, towering several feet over the smaller man, and felt an intense burning grow from her fingertips all the way down to her palms. As the lights in her hands flickered on, creating a vivid blue light that reflected across the linoleum floor, the man in front of her backed away slowly, but his casual expression didn't falter.

"What do you _want_?" She asked through clenched teeth. "What do _any_ of you want? Leave me alone!"

He lifted a hand. His finger paused in the air, not pointing to an exact spot, but Iris knew exactly what he was referring to.

"I think you know what I'm interested in," he replied – calmly, efficiently, as if his words had all been planned out.

The train shook, causing both of their bodies to stumble, but neither fell to their knees. Iris flexed her fingers, feeling the raw power of the necklace flow right through her. Her eyes were shining bright: two vibrant pools of turquoise burning into the man before her. She clutched the pendant with one hand, barking back, "You're going to have to pry it off my dead body. But trust me, even _then_ it wouldn't come off."

The man snickered. That only made Iris more furious. "Oh, I know. Weknow all about _that_ necklace."

Iris narrowed her eyes. "We? Who the fuck is _we_?"

The anger inside of her was scary. The last thing she needed was even _more_ blood on her hands, but this man – _this_ _stranger_ – was clearly after her, and she couldn't ignore it anymore. With this necklace on, she was someone else entirely – someone that terrified her.

He placed a hand to his chest, chubby fingers brushing past an enamel pin she just now noticed on his lapel. Her vision was foggy though, and she couldn't quite make out what it was. But one thing she knew for sure: he was wearing a necklace. The same necklace she found on those guys that attacked her outside St. Anne's last week. Iris advanced, but the man didn't move an inch.

"I am part of an organization called, the _Coatls_ , and we've been looking for that necklace for a long time." He reached out for the turquoise stone hanging from the grace of her neck, but Iris swatted his hand away. "We almost got our hands on it before you _snatched_ it away –"

Iris lifted a hand, and the light reflected against the man's black stare. He gawked at it in awe. "I'm losing my patience," she seethed.

"– But _maybe_ this is a good thing," he continued, looking away from her for a split second. "Because the necklace has chosen _you_ , which means you are what we've been waiting for. The return of _Chalchiuhtlicue_!"

She advanced towards him. The lights were burning into his sockets, but he couldn't look away. "What the _fuck_ are you talking about?!"

The man stopped in his tracks. He lingered just by the doors to her right, but all he did was mimic her movements by lifting one hand in the air. Iris didn't hesitate. She sprinted forward, locking a warm hand around his throat, and hovered one light over his face. The man simply beamed at it with wonder.

"I've said too much," he whispered. "We will be in contact when he needs you."

" _What_ –"

Iris could hardly finish her sentence, because the man was suddenly flinging himself towards the left set of doors, punching on the emergency button. The train lurched forward. The doors swiped open. Iris staggered and clung to one of the poles. The man gave her one last wide grin – the kind of grin you'd remember for the rest of your life – before hurling his whole body outside of the train as it moved at full speed.

The shriek that emerged from her lips didn't even sound human. Iris fell to her knees, gripping the pole for dear life. She screamed and cried as the train moved further away from the body of the unknown man. A man part of the Coatls – whatever that was. He was gone. He _killed himself_ in front of her eyes, and for _what_? To save himself? To prove a point? Iris didn't have a clue, but she was horrified, shocked, and everything in between.

She hadn't even heard a scream. He must've died instantly.

Iris stayed there – clinging to the pole – for the ten minutes left of her ride home. The doors eventually closed, but she couldn't stop staring at where that man once stood. A sob clogged itself in her throat. She couldn't release it, though, too afraid it would cause more tears to leak beneath her lashes, too scared she would see the scene all over again once she closed her eyes. The lights in her hands eventually dimmed, but she didn't feel the pain disappear. Right now, everything seemed to hurt.

She didn't want to think about who would find the body someday.


	14. TWIN SERPENTS

#### CHAPTER THIRTEEN

##### TWIN SERPENTS

#####  **__________________________**

**IRIS** hated that it was now a regular thing for her to call Dick Grayson in times of panic.

She absolutely _despised_ that she felt the need to contact him and _only him_. Independent women do not call cute coworkers to relay their problems onto, and cute coworkers don't normally take on a burden like that without a price. Wait a minute – could she seriously _stop_ referring to Dick as –

Iris pinched the bridge of her nose. She hadn't stopped pacing since she got back to her apartment. Her heartbeat still hadn't calmed down, and she refused to take off her parka until she stopped shivering. The _Full House_ rerun on TV did nothing to calm her nerves. Closing her eyes, Iris silently begged for _someone_ just to pick up Dick Grayson's phone – even if it was his mother or something. Maybe even Batman.

Now that she thought of it, talking to Batman probably wasn't the best idea. She could hardly breathe as it is.

It was on the third ring. Iris was ready to give up. And then, a magical moment happened –

" _Iris_ ," Dick breathed out on the other end, " _I'm super busy right now. I'm helping Angeles with something so I'm still at the station_ –"

She couldn't stop herself from interrupting: "I know who's been tracking me."

Dick was silent for a moment. Iris heard something shut softly through her speaker, and she raised a brow with suspicion. " _What happened?_ " He asked, his tone direct and grim.

Iris looked up at the ceiling, noticing that the paint was chipping up there too. She sighed into her speaker before padding over to the refrigerator. "I wish I could explain," she replied, grabbing a water bottle from the top shelf. "But I _literally_ can't."

" _Can you please_ try _?_ "

Iris guzzled half of the bottle in less than thirty seconds. This was one of the first times she grabbed water instead of whiskey in a moment of crisis. " _Basically_ –" She paused to wipe excess water off her mouth. "– I took the train tonight like normal, but it was weirdly empty, and then some weird, short guy approached me, saying some shit like, 'We all know you, Iris.' So my fight or flight response went off like a zinger, and he told me he's part of this group called the Coatls, who have been wanting this necklace for who knows how long. And then, he said something about the necklace choosing me? I don't know. He shouted something about the return of Chalch– I can't pronounce it – before jumping out of the train and _killing himself_!"

Dick was silent again. Iris' knuckles were turning white as she crushed the water bottle in her tight grip. " _Dick Grayson_ ," she spat, "if you've hung up on me, I swear to _fucking god_ that I will –"

" _Listen_ ," he replied rapidly, " _don't freak out –_ "

"It's a little late for that!"

" _I'm driving over to your apartment. It's time we look into this together_."

Iris bit the end of her tongue. "But –"

" _I'll see you soon. Remember: sit back. Don't freak out. Okay? Okay._ "

The line went dead, and Iris allowed her arm to finally hang limply at her side. There was no way she could ignore this problem anymore. She was truly in too deep to climb out.

#####  **__________________________**

Iris did the exact opposite of what Dick asked. During the fifteen minutes of waiting for his arrival, Iris was already curled up on her couch with a laptop and her mother's handmade quilt. The only thing keeping her sane was the dying cigarette held between her two fingers. With shaky hands, she desperately searched the internet for anything related to the word, _coatl_. Her old Macbook could hardly keep up.

It didn't take an idiot to realize that _coatl_ wasn't an English word. As Iris dug deeper into the mystery, she ended up on a website all about the Aztec language, _Nahuatl_. According to the site, _coatl_ referred to a serpent or twin, as well as being one of the day-signs in the Aztec calendar. It was also a serpent creature in _Dungeons and Dragons_. But Iris took a wild guess that a group of thieves focused on stealing a power-filled necklace probably had nothing to do with a roleplaying game. On the other hand ... who was she to judge?

Fifteen minutes later, right on the dot, a knock sounded at her door. Stabbing her cigarette into an ashtray, Iris shouted, "It's open!"

Dick walked through the door and shut it before she even had the chance to look up. Once her eyes met his, she took in the disapproving expression on his face. Dick turned the lock on the door and lifted his hands. "You have a group of weirdos tracking you and you don't even _lock the door_?!"

Iris puckered her lips when she realized her mistake. "I really didn't think about that part."

"Yeah, obviously." Despite the dissatisfaction on his face, Dick chuckled softly and hung his jacket on the coatrack by the TV. He nodded towards _Full House_ playing quietly and sat down next to her on the couch. "I thought I told you to relax?"

She turned towards Dick, sending him a doubtful look, as if to say, _Did you really think I would do that?_ Iris licked her lips and leaned back into the floppy cushions. "I know I was freaking out, but ..." She shrugged. "You really didn't need to come so fast. You could've stayed back to help the Chief."

Dick raised a brow. "You think I _wanted_ to help him? Yeah, okay. Being here with you is much better." He cleared his throat, looking away for a moment. "Even though these are dire circumstances."

"You're telling me," she huffed, pushing the laptop in his direction. Dick instinctively slid over and their hips bumped. Iris glanced towards him, cheeks flushing a rosy pink, before Dick moved an inch away. Iris rubbed at her nose and recovered from her moment of vulnerability, "So I – uh – I did a little bit of research while waiting for you."

She slipped the Macbook onto Dick's lap. Iris bit the edge of her nail while watching him read the information with narrowed eyes. "I don't know if knowing the definition of _coatl_ helps at all –"

"No, it does," Dick mumbled, typing a link into the search bar. Iris leaned into his shoulder, and Dick stiffened when he felt her breath on his neck. Swallowing hard, he showed Iris the screen, and she furrowed her brow at the website that looked like it was made all the way back in 2008. It was an all-black webpage, besides the small symbol at the top and the bright turquoise text following it. _COATLS: THE TWIN SERPENTS_ was written in bold underneath the symbol. There was something so familiar about it.

"Okay," she breathed, "what's this supposed to mean?"

"Before I left the station, I managed to search through some of the dark web about the Coatls, and this website seemed like our best bet –"

Iris blinked. "You used your office computer to search the _dark web_?"

"Oh, don't act like you _haven't_ done it before," he scoffed before punching a finger onto the old laptop screen. "This site might look old, but it details what the organization is about and how to join. That's the most we've got so far. It was even locked by a password."

"How did you figure out the password?"

Dick smirked, "A hacker doesn't give away his secrets."

Iris' stare formed into slits.

"I just googled, _Aztec turquoise god_ , and took a wild guess. The password was this complicated word, like Xiuhtec–"

Her eyes went wide with recognition. Iris snapped her fingers. "I think I know what you're talking about! I _might've_ – well – visited my old neighbor who was part of this group at the county jail last week and he _might've_ told me that they were stealing the necklace because some guy told them that it was their sole connection to –"

She paused, trying to sound out the word the best she could: "Xiuh – Xiuhtec – Xiuhtecuhtli."

"And you didn't tell me you went there _because_?"

"God forbid, I figure out something on my own, Grayson," she rolled her eyes, turning back to the computer. "Don't be like a clingy boyfriend."

Dick swallowed down his pride and sat back into the couch. The words caused his heart to beat fast, and he hoped to God that she couldn't hear it. His hand cramped up. Time went still, especially when she turned to look at him again. Her mouth was moving, but he couldn't hear her –

"DICK!"

He shook his head. "Huh?"

"I said, I think I know that symbol." She bit the inside of her cheek. "My neighbor had it engraved in a sign on his door."

They looked at the screen together, right where Iris was pointing. Something about it was familiar to her, and when it finally clicked, she wondered why it had taken so long. For _months_ , she had been speculating why Josh hung such an ugly plaque over his apartment number, but it all made sense now. This also looked like the symbol that hung between the turquoise beads during that foul taxi ride she had a few months ago – something that she was surprised she could even remember. The Coatls were there this whole time, right in front of her, and she hadn't questioned it under they appeared in her life.

The website went into detail on a few crucial points – things too crucial to be on the internet, even if Dick had found it on the dark web. Iris could only make herself skim it, though, in fear that someone would find them with her IP address and – I don't know – try to suffocate her through the computer. What Josh had said was all true, according to this website: the necklace was their exclusive connection to Xiuhtecuhtli, the Aztec god of fire and day, but it always chose a female to wear it. Whoever the necklace chose would be gifted with power and become the reborn Chalchiuhtlicue, also known as Xiuhtecuhtli's wife. Once the necklace-bearer is reunited with the reincarnation of Xiuhtecuhtli, a new world would arise at their hands.

Maybe that old WordPress blog got a few things right after all.

"This is too much," Iris huffed, pushing the laptop onto her coffee table. She stood from the couch and unwrapped herself from the quilt, padding her feet over to the liquor cabinet. After a few minutes of rummaging through the packed shelves, Iris held up a bottle of Jameson. "Wanna drink?"

Dick glanced over his shoulder. "Uh – yeah, sure."

" _Greaaat_ ," she hissed, grabbing two large shot glasses. Iris took a small swig from the bottle as Dick approached the kitchen island, watching her with keen eyes. Dipping the bottle down, she filled the two glasses tp the brink with whiskey, smiling wickedly.

He caught the shot glass when she slid it across the island towards him. Dick plucked the glass up and rocked it in between two fingers. "You know," he said, hardly meeting her eyes, "it might be a good idea for you to _actually_ lay low for a while and stay at my place."

" _Your place_? You mean the large, penthouse apartment in the middle of the city?" She snickered, tilting her head back. "Yeah, like _that's_ a good idea."

Dick looked at Iris beneath his thick lashes, watching her take the large shot in one go. Iris choked a little as it went down, bringing a hand up to her mouth. Taking a few deep breaths, she eyed the filled shot glass still in his hand before meeting his hardened stare. She glared.

"You _can't_ be serious." She smacked her glass against the kitchen island. "Dick, I'm not going to put my life on hold just because some crazy organization thinks I'm the second coming of an Aztec goddess."

"Do you even hear yourself?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "That alone should give you a reason to lay low. At least once!"

Iris scoffed dramatically, "What? You suddenly care about _my safety_? Is that what's happening?"

"I _always_ have, Iris. I haven't been helping you through this thing just for sport." His tone was softer now, more enigmatic. Iris refused to speak, but still found her eyes darting to his lips for a split second. "Why does it matter?"

The island separated them, but she still felt too close. Everything about this conversation was _too close_. Iris swallowed hard and looked at the shot glass he abandoned on the table. "Are you gonna drink that?"

Dick only quirked a brow upward, giving Iris free reign to pluck the glass with two fingers and down it until she hit the last drop. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. It burned on the way down, but it was the best thing to distract her from this conversation.

After a long moment, Iris stood up straighter and placed the two glasses in the sink. "Listen," she sighed, "I'm not here to be your little sidekick or some kind of hero that saves the day. I don't want that."

"Trust me," Dick grumbled, sauntering over to where she leaned against the kitchen counter, "neither do I."

Iris' shoe brushed against his when he approached her, invading her space. She crossed her arms tightly and curled her lips into a frown. "But Robin is who you _are_ , Dick. No matter how many times you try to bury him, you still crawl back into that suit from time to time." Her brow shot up, waiting for a reply from him, but Dick stayed silent. "That isn't me. I'm not a hero, and I'm certainly not someone who lives in fear."

Dick stuck his hands in his front pockets and looked at the floor, taking a long moment to keep quiet. He hardly moved an inch, except to lift his head and send her a set of what she could only guess was his own version of puppy dog eyes. She wasn't quite sure. If that's what he was doing, he was bad at it. She thought he looked like he was holding in gas.

"My point still stands. I've been doing this shit alone since I entered my twenties." Iris sighed heavily and spun on her heel to rinse out the two shot glasses. "A dumb group isn't going to stop that."

"Iris, wait –"

Dick reached out and grasped her arm. His touch caught her off guard, and she suddenly allowed the glass to fall from her hands and into the sink. Iris cursed under her breath, shut off the faucet, and turned back around to face him. Her scowl could start a war, or end one. Dick couldn't be too sure.

But when her eyes met his, she found her expression grow soft. Her cheeks flushed as she noticed how close they really were, and suddenly, the proximity was the only thing she could think about. His nose was inches from hers. Their chests were practically touching. Iris thought she could hear his heart beating fast.

Dick's eyes searched hers, before landing on her mouth. He still smelled the nicotine lingering in her breath, but he didn't move away. Iris licked her lips and tasted the fresh sheen of chapstick she applied as soon as she got home. She felt Dick's hand move down, tracing patterns onto her bare skin, until he laced their fingers together. Iris was frozen, unable to even _think_ , as he used his other hand to reach up and brush a few hairs from her cheek. His skin burned against her own. It was the kind of burning she could get used to.

Their lips brushed. Time stopped. It felt like it was only them in this big, wide universe. The bad blood between them had never truly existed. It just evaporated; an imaginable force only meant to bring them together, in this moment. If Iris moved closer, they would be kissing. She would be kissing _Dick Grayson_.

This couldn't be happening. But it was.

 _No_ , she thought. It definitely _was not_.

Iris moved her face away, allowing his mouth to just about graze her cheek, before he quickly leaned back. She cleared her throat and stepped away, bumping her hip into the counter. "Um ..." She winced as her side began to throb instantly. Iris didn't know if she could look at him. "I'm fine staying here by myself. You should go."

In a perfect world, Dick would offer to stay the night at her place, just to make sure she was okay. In a perfect world, they might've shared a heated kiss and dealt with the consequences come morning. In a perfect world, Dick Grayson and Iris Kingsley were always meant to meet, and maybe, they'd let themselves fall deeply and irrevocably in love with each other.

But it wasn't a perfect world, and Dick Grayson knew when it was his time to leave. So he nodded his head in acknowledgment, kept his lips in a fine line, and grabbed his jacket before leaving Iris Kingsley's apartment. He didn't think he would regret it as much as he did.


	15. GUYS LIKE HIM

#### CHAPTER FOURTEEN

##### GUYS LIKE HIM

#####  **__________________________**

**DICK** and Iris were similar in a lot of aspects, but most of all, they were both incredibly good at pretending.

The two coworkers managed to completely ignore the almost-kiss that occurred in Iris' apartment just days ago. It was as if it never happened. They never brushed their lips against each other. They never tasted spearmint on the other's breath. Nothing _ever_ happened. If they couldn't ignore the shitstorm that was brewing with the Coatls, they could at least pretend that they never almost-kissed. Easy as pie.

So easy that Dick found the courage to ask Iris to join him and a friend that Thursday night for coffee. He invited her as _a friend_. She was his friend now. The whole situation seemed extremely _friendly_ , and not at all like a date. (You can't imagine the anxiety she felt when he walked over after work to ask her this. She could've sworn the word, _date_ , hung off the edge of his tongue.) It was just going to be three friends ... having coffee ... and friendly conversation. At least, that's what she _hoped_.

He asked her to meet him at Jillian's Coffee after work – big surprise there. Lucky for her, Jillian's was right near the first train stop on her way home. She left around six, per usual, and hopped on the same train cart at sixty-thirty. If she were being honest, Iris had been a little apprehensive about the trains since her ... _incident_ just a week ago. She almost didn't ride it the day after it happened. But since that train, the sixty-thirty train home has been nothing but packed, as it should be. There hadn't been any short, bald men in sight, at least none that were familiar to her. No weird men with turquoise necklaces approaching her. She was pretty sure that no one had ever found a body in the underground system. It was like it all happened in her head, but it didn't. She _knew_ it was real. Something like that couldn't have been more real, and yet, there wasn't a trace of the man's existence.

Iris tended to think about the disturbance on her ride home every evening, although she tried her best to keep her mind off of it. She almost missed her stop tonight because she had been lost in her head, but when they called, " _First stop: Hemmond Street_ ," her conscious was awakened. Iris sprung up and walked off the platform, already spotting the dim lighting of Jillian's Coffee on the side street next to Hemmond.

For a Thursday night, Jillian's was pretty packed. Iris took a guess that there may be some poetry reading or acoustic band playing tonight. Couples and best friends surrounded the small tables littering the local coffee joint, giggling and sipping the hot liquid that teetered on the edge of their cups. Warm steam wafted into the air and mixed with the sweet tones of jazz music from a Spotify playlist. Iris tilted her head to the side as she approached one of the foggy windows, burrowing herself deeper into her scarf. In the far corner of the coffee shop, she spotted Dick sitting with a pretty brunette, her red lips quirked into an impish grin.

They looked _close_. Iris wondered how long they knew each other, if she knew about his _secret_. From the way they were both leaning into the table, sharing a joke that probably only they would understand, Iris assumed they had known each other for years. She almost felt rude for intruding on their meetup, but Dick _had_ invited her.

This was definitely weird. Did he not understand social cues? Maybe she'd save them both the embarrassment and leave ...

Iris had turned on her heel to walk back to the train station, and then stopped in place. She looked at the thin blanket of snowflakes on the ground and began to draw a flower with her foot as a distraction. _Man up, Kingsley_ , she told herself. _You've been through far worse in the past months to cower away at a dumb coffee shop conversation_. With one look over her shoulder, Iris released an annoyed groan and made her way inside of Jillian's.

As the bell rang at her arrival, Dick's head snapped up, immediately finding Iris at the door. He grinned big and beckoned her over with a wave of his head. Sending him a soft smile, Iris took in a deep breath and strode over to the small booth.

As she approached the coat rack next to Dick's table, she found the brunette's eyes suddenly on her with an acute intensity, like she was internally debating if Iris was real. Iris shed off her coat and hung it up, and then noticed how damn _small_ the booth was. She'd have to sit on one of their sides, or she could totally insult both of them by dragging another chair over.

She was taking too long to decide. She hadn't even _introduced_ herself. _God_ , she wasn't cut out for this –

Iris' hand sprung to life. "Um – hi," she said, directing her hand towards the brunette. "I'm Iris."

"I _know_ ," she smirked, glancing at Dick for a moment, before shaking Iris' trembling hand. "Dick has told me a lot about you. I'm Donna. Donna Troy."

Dick moved in and squished himself into the side of the booth, leaving Iris with no choice but to sit with him. She cleared her throat, shoving herself onto the end of the cushioned booth, and tried to ignore that their legs were pressing right next to each other.

"Donna and I have known each other since we were kids. She's like me. _Former_ protégé." He said, earning a brow raise from Donna. Iris looked between them with heightened curiosity. "You ever heard of Wonder Girl?"

Iris scratched the top of her head. "Once or twice, I think. Wonder Woman's sidekick, right?" She glanced towards Donna. "I'm not good with all of this ... _hero stuff_."

"Sidekick? For once, Dick was right. I was a _protégé_." She punched Dick's arm from across the table.

He rubbed at the spot where she hit him, looking to a confused Iris. Dick gestured from him to Donna. "We're practically siblings," he explained. "I know it's a hard concept to grasp that I've had a friend this long. I tend to be an asshole."

Iris snorted, "You're telling me."

Donna tapped her hand, agreeing with a firm nod. Iris found herself smiling along with her. " _Such_ an asshole that he hardly calls. He's always busy with ' _work_.'" She rolled her eyes and glared towards Dick. "But, _of course_ , I finally received a call back when he needed someone to convince his girlfriend to become a crime fighter with him."

Iris blinked. "Um –"

"Do you _know_ how annoying that is?" Donna scoffed, narrowing her brows in Dick's direction. "I've barely heard from you since you left Gotham!"

"Hey, just – wait a second," Dick said with two hands held up. "We ... Iris and I ..." He shook his head, looking to her for help, but Iris was visibly stunned by Donna's outburst. "We aren't dating. We're friends, and we work together."

 _Friends who just so happen to almost kiss_ , her conscious reminded.

Donna was still scowling at him. Her expression wouldn't break, and she knew one simple glare could break Dick Grayson down like fragile china. He could be so _easy_ sometimes.

"Well, I'm – uh ..." He avoided both of their gazes. "I'll go get us three coffees."

Iris moved out of the booth, pressing herself firmly against the wall as Dick's back softly brushed against her chest. She held her breath the entire time before sitting back down into the booth. Donna held up a finger as he walked off and called out, "Don't forget almond milk in mine!" Dick nodded in affirmation and got in line at the register station.

Once she knew he was farther away, Iris let her face fall into her hands. "Did he really make you come tonight for this?" She asked, voice slightly muffled.

"It was definitely the main topic of his call," Donna replied.

Iris exhaled loudly. For a moment, Donna was quiet, and wondered why Dick was so adamant about recruiting this supposed "friend." He had said she was powerful – and Donna had no issue with seeing that from the glowing pendant on her chest – but the Titans had been disbanded for years. Out of all people, Dick Grayson was the last person she thought would want to restart it. But then, Donna remembered that under his harden armor and stubbornness, Dick had a heart of gold. He liked helping gifted people discover the true power inside of them, and he was lonely in Detroit. She knew it from the moment she arrived. Iris Kingsley was something solid to lean against here, and he was just as dependent on her as she secretly was with him.

With a soft sigh, Donna pried Iris' hands away from her face, holding them together in her firm grip. Iris felt a sense of comfort in Donna's piercing gaze. "He has good intentions. You know that, right?"

"Guys like him always do," Iris quipped, leaning back into her seat.

"He told me that necklace gave you some pretty amazing powers. So why don't you want to release them, or _harness_ them?" Donna inquired, trying to search deeper into the depths of this woman's paranoia. Iris simply shrugged. "Let me rephrase that: what's scaring you about working with Dick? You both already work together at the station, he's said."

Iris pushed a wild strand of hair behind her ear. "That's different. That's a professional setting." She paused, debating that sentence, but decided not to dwell on the odd environment of the Detroit Police Station. "All of this ... _vigilante stuff_ – it's not my thing. It's too much for me. Ever since I was given this burden of a necklace, my life has gone off the rails, and I just want it to be normalagain. Venturing into the night in some weird costume and fighting crime with Dick Grayson is the farthest from normal."

"But don't you already do that as a detective?" Donna quirked a brow upward. "Minus the costume part, which can be kinda fun sometimes."

"Not gonna happen."

Donna cocked her head to the side. "And you're _sure_ you guys aren't dating too?"

Iris swallowed hard. She hoped Donna didn't notice. " _No_."

Dick suddenly swung around the corner, balancing a tray of cups filled to the brink with steaming coffee. "Got those drinks –" He stopped short when he realized Iris and Donna immediately halted their conversation at his arrival. Placing the tray on the table, he asked, "Did I interrupt something?"

" _Nope_ ," the two chorused, sending each other a wary glance. That alone told Donna all that she needed to know.

#####  **__________________________**

After a thorough conversation noting Dick Grayson's terrible social behavior shared over three cups of dark roast coffee, Iris checked the time on her phone and decided that maybe it was time to head home. She at least wanted to make the eight-thirty train home, knowing very well that the next train wasn't until ten PM. Dick offered to drive her home, but Iris was getting a little sick and tired of him being her knight in shining armor, and Donna even mentioned that fact as Iris declined. With a small wave, Iris exited Jillian's and headed for the train platform.

Once the dark-haired woman had walked off, Donna slowly turned to face Dick in her chair, a big smile plastered on her rosy lips. "I like her," she said wistfully. "She calls you out on your bullshit."

"Yeah, yeah," Dick mumbled, sipping the second cup of coffee he ordered that night. He wondered how he'd be able to sleep tonight. (Not like he slept much at all.)

"I did manage to talk to her a little bit while you were away," Donna replied. Her phone lit up with a text message and she looked at the time with interest. She needed to leave soon, especially since they were the only too left in the coffee shop. "You know, the whole 'convincing' thing."

He lifted a bushy brow. " _And_?"

"She wasn't convinced."

Dick sunk into the booth, tapping the rim of his cup. "Can't say I'm surprised."

"That Iris Kingsley certainly is a tough egg to crack," Donna agreed. She paused for a moment, words clogged in her throat, and Dick glanced at her with concern. Eventually, Donna shrugged and said, "Hey, um – Dick, if you really want to spend time with her so badly, why don't you just ask her on a date?"

Dick's back went rigid, while his eyes narrowed in her direction. " _What_?"

"Do you suddenly have hearing problems or something?" She asked, deadpanned. "I told you to ask her out on a date."

"Iris and I are frien –"

Donna held up a finger. "If you say the _F_ word, so help me God, I _will_ end you, Dick Grayson." She settled back into her seat, frowning towards him. "Seriously, why haven't you asked her out? You obviously like each other."

"Why do you _always_ think that you know everything?"

"Older, smarter, prettier, _remember_?"

Dick tried to hide the grin playing at his lips. "I'm not having this conversation with you, Donna."

"Another time, then?" She asked, standing up and slinging her bag over her shoulder. "I should go and get my beauty sleep. Have to meet some important people tomorrow before I head back home. We'll continue this convo _soon_ , okay?"

He looked away, but nodded nonetheless.

"And, Dick?"

His chin lifted, and he met her dark, whimsical stare from across the shop. Employees were washing down tables around her, but Donna Troy stood out like a bright light amongst the darkness. She snapped in his direction, "Remember to call me more often, Boy Wonder."

Dick smiled. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."


	16. THE BOUNDARIES OF PROFESSIONALISM

#### CHAPTER FIFTEEN

##### THE BOUNDARIES OF PROFESSIONALISM

#####  **__________________________**

**IT** was hard for Iris to wake up the next morning. Due to the caffeine running through her system last night, she hardly got a wink of sleep. She was dreadfully tired, hanging by the end of the imaginary rope that was currently dragging her out of bed. When she hauled herself over to the bathroom, the reflection of herself in the mirror was almost enough to wake her. She jumped at the sight of the dried mascara crusting underneath her lashes and laying in tiny clumps across her cheeks. She must've been so tired last night that she forgot to take any of it off. At least, she managed to put on her pajamas.

Exhaustion wasn't new to her. At this point, Iris was fully aware that your late twenties were all about going to bed at four AM every night, forgetting to wash off your makeup, and _maybe_ kissing your coworker – or close to it. And also disregarding that your thirties were just a few years away. She was always used to a routine.

As she arrived at the police station in a prompt manner, Iris was pretty sure that she looked like she just rolled out of a sewer. Her dress shirt wasn't tucked into her pants. She was definitely wearing two mismatched socks. Her hair looked like it hadn't been brushed. She didn't bother to check how bad her eye bags were before she left, but from the way Charlie was staring at her as she approached her desk, she didn't want to know.

"You look terrible," Charlie exclaimed, jumping out of her seat as Iris tried to settle into her own. "Jesus!"

So much for not knowing.

Iris narrowed her eyes in Charlie's direction. " _Thanks_ ," she said through clenched teeth. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Well, obviously." Charlie's red lips pulled into a sly grin. "Another night out with Detective Grayson, I presume?"

"Charlie, how many times do I have to _tell you_?" Iris scoffed, pushing the stacks of papers to the side of her keyboard. Her desk was an absolute _mess_. "This isn't funny. I'm not hooking up with my partner –"

The curly-haired woman shook her head. Her smug smile never ceased. "You're not slick, Kingsley. Not at all. I always see you guys talking when you think no one's watching. If you guys are trying to act like you're not dating, you're both not very good at it."

Iris stood, pointing a stern finger in Charlie's face. "We're not dating!" She whispered loudly. "Can you get that through your brain? We. Are. Not. Dating. Leave it alone!"

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she sighed, turning her head over her shoulder. Both of their eyes lingered on the office in the back corner, where Dick sat idly at his computer, tapping a pen hard enough that Iris was sure the desk would break. She shook her head, and Charlie turned back to her before she could register it.

"By the way," Charlie continued, "I think Chief wants to see you. He was looking for you earlier. Something about following up on a drowning case."

Iris smacked her forehead. "Shit, I really gotta get on that. I've hardly looked into it."

With a soft _hmph_ , Charlie retreated back to her desk. Iris huffed loudly, meeting Dick's stare from across the room, before sitting down in her chair and acting as if nothing happened. Looking at the scattered papers across her desk, she wondered where she put that file for the drowning case. Iris began filtering through all the folders piled around her. It _had_ to be around here somewhere. She hardly touched the file in the first place!

Frustrated with her own incompetence, Iris sat still for a minute and rubbed at her eyes. She loved her work most days. It was part of her daily routine and always kept her on her toes. But this was not one of those days. All she wanted was to crawl back into bed and sleep for eternity.

Iris was so caught up in her own problems that she hardly noticed a person approach her desk. He knocked on the side of her cubicle, but she didn't look up, only continued to sort through the folders cluttered by her old computer. Eventually, he cleared his throat, and Iris almost jumped out of her seat at the noise.

"Oh," she muttered, viewing up at Dick with a hand over her chest, "it's just you. Almost gave me a heart attack."

"Good morning to you too, I guess," he quipped, tipping his empty coffee cup back and forth.

She frowned. "I'm sorry. I'm just really busy. I need to find this _stupid_ file. Angeles is looking for me –"

"Well, then I hope this will only take up a few minutes of your time."

"Doubt it," she shrugged, giving him a side-eye. "I've noticed that you ramble when you don't know what to say sometimes."

" _Iris_!"

She looked up to see who whispered, only to see Charlie peering over the edge of the wall. Her coworker raised her brows in Iris' direction as a warning. "Listen to what he has to say," she continued to whisper.

Both Iris and Dick shared a look. "You know he can see you, _right_?" Iris asked, before eventually holding up her hands in surrender. "I really don't have time for this. You two can have a conversation without me."

Dick stopped her with a wave of his hand. "It's just – I have an important question for you –"

"Not as important as me finding this folder –"

"But it _is_ –"

"Don't think so –"

"Iris," he said, softer this time, but loud enough for her to recognize the seriousness behind it. She lifted her head in his direction, noticing the tiny twinkle in his eye, and the curve of his lips when their eyes met. It almost made her forget how disheveled she looked today. "I just –"

She lifted a brow. Charlie was practically waiting on the edge of her seat from behind the wall.

"I was wondering if –" He pinched the bridge of his nose, pausing for a short moment. "– If you would have a drink with me tonight."

Charlie hit the top of the cubicle wall and cried, "I _knew_ it!"

With an irritated expression, Iris bopped Charlie's head and pushed her back down in her desk chair. She hesitated, swallowing hard, before turning back to face Dick. She hoped he couldn't see the anxiety written all over her face.

"Not coffee, I hope?" She asked, trying to make the conversation less awkward. "I can see why you drink Jillian's. That shit kept me up all night."

He rubbed the back of his head and laughed nervously. "No, um – not coffee. I was thinking a beer at that dive bar down the street?"

 _Oh, no_ , she thought to herself. This wasn't just any drink. This was a date. A date _date_. Fuck _no_. She couldn't say yes, right?

Iris played with one of her rings, biting down on her bottom lip, before connecting their gazes again. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Dick tilted his head and glanced away. "Well –"

"Like, isn't that unprofessional?" She continued, arching a brow. "We are coworkers, after all."

"I'm going to be frank with you, Iris," he said, trying to stop his lips from curling into a contagious smile. "I think we might've overstepped the boundaries of professionalism a long time ago."

Charlie almost did a spit take from behind the wall. Iris rubbed at her forehead.

"I just ..." Iris trailed off. She needed to let him down easily, but good enough to still be friends. "I don't know. I'm tired and still busy with a lot of shit –"

"She'll go!"

Iris' eyes went wide at Charlie's exclamation, realizing that her cube mate was standing on her side with a hand sprung high in the air. She shook her head towards Charlie, as if to say, _What the FUCK are you doing?!_

Charlie nodded. The two acknowledged each other in a silent argument that only they could understand. Dick looked back and forth between them. He tried to decipher whatever secret language they were speaking, but it was beyond him. Eventually, Iris groaned, wrinkling her nose as she turned to Dick _once again_.

"I guess ..." She said, licking her lips. "I guess I can make time for a drink tonight."

His mouth formed into a big grin, possibly the happiest she'd ever seen him look. "Great, _awesome_. We can drive over in my car. I – uh –" His smile was never-ending, a constant reminder of the mistake she might've just made. But if she were being honest, his happiness made a tiny butterfly flutter in her stomach. "I'll see you later then?

Iris nodded, forcing a smile. This might be one of the worst decisions she's ever made.

#####  **__________________________**

After enduring a long conversation with Mr. Angeles about her responsibilities as a lead detective, Iris went back to her desk and absorbed herself in the new case Chief so desperately wanted her to work on. (Apparently, he _had_ gotten calls from the victim's family about nothing being done.) She treated this like a hibernation technique: she was going to hole up at her desk and not come out until next summer – at best.

However, she _now_ had a date tonight. As much as Iris wanted to stay here for eternity and completely forget about it, she knew being an asshole was completely unfair to Dick given how much he's done for her. She wasn't _totally_ heartless. And besides, it was _just_ a drink.

Around four-thirty, Iris noticed Dick slam his office shut and run out of the building. At first, she assumed he was just going out for his evening coffee, but he never came back. _Is he going to the bar early?_ She wondered with an arched brow. Iris was certainly not moving from her seat. In fact, she worked later than usual because she was so caught up in her research. She learned a long time ago that being fashionably late wasn't a crime, even though she was _not_ the textbook definition of fashionable. Dick wouldn't mind.

Iris tugged on her green parka after shutting down her computer for the night. She gathered her things and headed outside, nodding goodbye to the night shift officers just getting in. As she entered the frigid air, she suddenly remembered that Dick was going to drive her over to the bar with him. Why did he leave so early then? Iris whipped her head from side to side. No sign of the silver Porsche.

Maybe it was stupid to think that he was waiting for her at her apartment. Maybe it was stupid to believe that this was happening at all, but Iris still headed back to her place, under the assumption that she'd see that little, silver Porsche parked outside her apartment building. She endured another thirty-minute train ride, only to walk back to her building in the freezing cold and not see Dick's car anywhere.

Iris stood outside her building for a few minutes. Longer than she anticipated. At least, she had a cigarette in her hands to keep her company. Taking a long drag, Iris finally came to the haunting conclusion that she had been stood up. By _Dick Grayson_ , out of all people. She'd _never_ been stood up. Granted, she didn't normally go on dates either.

"Asshole," she mumbled to herself, finishing off the last of her cigarette. With an irritated huff, Iris threw it onto the cold concrete and stomped on it with the heel of her boot.

Looks like she was spending her night with another rerun of _Friends_ and a can of tomato soup. Or maybe she'd watch something else this time. As Iris trudged up the stairs to her apartment, she wondered when was the last time she watched _Full House_. She remembered when her parents used to let her watch it past her bedtime as a kid. What a nice way to spend a Friday night.

Iris told herself that she hadn't been looking forward to meeting up with Dick. It was going to be a waste of time. She was overtired and needed more sleep. The last thing she wanted to do tonight was to have a drink with him. She didn't care about being stood up. This was a good thing ... right?

( _Wrong_.)

She plucked her keys from one of the pockets inside her parka, approaching her front door with a sigh full of exhaustion and fatigue. But, like always, Iris still had her wits about her, and she managed to turn her head just enough to notice that Josh's apartment door was _open_.

Looking from side to side, Iris didn't see anyone in sight. She approached the door quietly, hand brushing over the surface, and pushing it open. Lifting her head, she realized the symbolic plaque that had once been hung above the apartment number was gone. There wasn't a trace of it left, besides the nail that was used to hang it.

Iris was smart. She followed the rules. She knew very well that it was against code to go into a place of residence without a search warrant, but this was different. This wasn't some legal matter. It was suddenly personal.

She peaked her head in before pushing the door open fully and walking inside. The air was quiet – a hauntingly kind of quiet that made a chill run up her spine. She had never even seen a sliver of what Josh's apartment looked like, but here it was: unlocked and open for everyone to see. It almost had the same set up as her own: kitchenette in the back, living room right near the door, and the rest of the small rooms located behind the small kitchen. He had a dinosaur of a computer sat on a desk right near the living room, papers strewn all around it.

The apartment wasn't just messy. It was _trashed_. The fridge door remained opened. Couch pillows were scattered around the carpet. At least every cabinet or drawer was open and rid of the belongings inside of it. A cold breeze filtered through the opened windows. Various items were dispersed along the floor.

Someone had been in here.

Iris held a hand to her chest as she realized the inevitable was happening. She gripped the doorframe for support, but nothing seemed to be able to hold her upright. All the air left her lungs, and she crouched down to heave and heave until she could get an ounce of the oxygen that had once been there. Everything felt dizzy, but she never felt more coherent.

The place was completely ransacked. The plaque was now gone. That could only mean one thing.

The Coatls had been here, and they were close.


	17. ALWAYS ATTRACT

#### CHAPTER SIXTEEN

##### ALWAYS ATTRACT

#####  **__________________________**

**DICK** Grayson called her once every few hours that whole weekend. Iris Kingsley never picked up.

She wasn't upset that he stood her up. She _swore_ by it. But her pride was bigger than anything in the world, and she would _not_ give him the benefit of finally answering his calls. Each time her ringtone went off, and she saw his name flash across the screen, Iris released a _hmph_ under her breath and turned her phone over. She was not giving him her attention.

Each voicemail sounded the same. When he left one, that is. The first three calls, no voicemail. But from then on out, he seemed to get more desperate, and each voicemail left her on the edge of what he would say next to get her to call him back. Never worked, though.

**DICK GRAYSON – 11:07 AM:** _Hey – uh, Iris? I'm getting worried. You're not answering my calls and I just want to make sure you're okay._

**DICK GRAYSON – 5:20 PM:** _Iris. I have important information to tell you. Please, pick up._

**DICK GRAYSON – 12:39 AM:** _Oh, fuck. I can't sleep. I really don't know why I'm calling you. Are you ignoring me? Is that a stupid question to ask? Are you even – like – alive?_

**DICK GRAYSON – 9:10 AM:** _I feel like I'm chasing after a lost dog. This is so stupid. Please, fucking_ answer me _. I really need to talk to you, Iris. Or at least know if you're okay, for Christ's sake._

**DICK GRAYSON – 7:55 PM:** _Hopefully, I see you at work on Monday. Goodnight, Iris._

Maybe it was cruel. Maybe it made her seem like a bitch, but Iris didn't care. At this point, it felt like he was only calling her because it was convenient for him. Did he ever want to have a drink with her in the first place? Right now, it didn't seem so likely.

And this was the exact kind of attitude she had as she walked into the station on Monday morning. With her head held high in the air, Iris stomped over to her desk and chucked her briefcase right by her chair. Charlie watched her coworker's steps intensely, studying each irritated stomp with bated breath. Instead of standing up and sticking her nose over the cubicle wall, for once, Charlie sank back in her chair and minded her own business. Iris looked frustrated this morning – but not the kind of frustrated where it looked like it was okay to talk to her. _No_ , something was really bothering her, and Charlie knew talking so early in the morning would not help.

Iris kept to herself the whole morning. She had another meeting with the Chief on what news she gained on the drowned body case and confirmed that she would be receiving autopsy results soon. She made plans to talk with the family as soon as she knew the last bit of information. Her whole face was practically pressed to her computer monitor for most of the morning. She didn't even notice Dick get in late and storm through the doors of the station. Not like she cared _anyways_.

It was only until Iris heard her stomach grumble that she actually took the time to stand up again. She forgot to bring her lunch because she was in such a hurry this morning, so it was a vending machine meal for today. Striding past Dick's office, Iris hardly glanced from the corner of her eye as she made her way to the break room.

After one o'clock was the best time to hit up the break room, seeing as almost half the officers liked to take their lunch break there. The room was completely void of human life, which made Iris' life easier. She took her time to decide what she wanted to spend her two bucks on. I mean, choosing between getting a Twix or a Clif bar was a pretty momentous decision. Eventually, she picked the peanut butter Clif bar and received two quarters back. Plucking the protein bar from the machine, Iris turned to head back to her desk, but was almost blindsided by the person waiting beside her.

It was kind of stupid for her to be so caught off guard. It wasn't like she forgot he worked here.

"Hey," Dick breathed out, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his dress pants. He tended to do that when he was nervous, she noticed.

Iris pulled the wrapper apart and muttered, "Hi."

An awkward silence ensued. Dick watched her bite down on the bar and chew loudly in front of him, waiting to see what he would do. Truthfully, he didn't know what he _could_ do to make things better. She was clearly mad at him, even if she didn't want to admit it. What was the best way to approach this calmly and rationally?

Definitely not the way he ended up doing it.

"Listen," he sighed, rubbing at his brow line, "I know you think I stood you up on Friday, and I'm sorry, but I can _promise you_ –"

"You _did_ stand me up, though," she said while pointing her half-eaten protein bar in his direction. "That's kind of exactly what you did."

"Iris –"

She bit off the last of the Cliff bar and held her hands up. "Whatever. I don't care, Dick." Iris chucked the wrapper in the open trash can. "I have so much on my plate now and the last thing I needed was people at the station finding out I went out for a drink with _the_ Detective Dick Grayson." She wiggled her fingers while saying his name.

"You don't understand," he muttered. "It was a Robin thing."

"It's always a _Robin thing_."

With a roll of her eyes, Iris tried to move past him, but his hand caught her own. She came to a sudden halt, shock covering her entire face. Iris whipped around, but didn't detach herself from his grip. Instead, she held on tighter, despite the anger coursing through her veins. He looked down at their tangled hands at the same time she did, and when their eyes met, Iris realized just how close their faces were. Dick pursed his lips. She could feel his breath on her cheeks. It would be so easy to –

Iris cleared her throat and slipped her hand away. Rubbing at the end of her nose, she said, "Again, it doesn't matter. Because while _you_ –" She jammed a finger onto his built chest. "– were off gallivanting in your little Boy Wonder costume doing who knows _what_ , I went back to my apartment complex and saw that my former-Coatl neighbor had his place broken into." Iris looked away from his confused stare and shrugged. "My only guess that it was the Coatls. The place was completely trashed, and the little Coatl symbol was removed from his door."

Dick's expression softened. Iris turned her head towards him, brow narrowing when she noticed the smile playing on his lips. "What are you grinning about? I'm still pissed at you."

"I left the station early on Friday and couldn't make it to the bar because I thought I had a lead on the Coatls," he explained, and Iris' eyes grew wide with interest. "I had been out getting my evening coffee and saw a car with the symbol on the license plate. It was two guys that kept passing by the station. I don't know if they knew you were here, but they seemed suspicious. So, I followed them and they led me to a dark, dead-end street. They knew that I knew who they were. I almost had them, but they both escaped in a random getaway car before I could question either of them. The end."

Iris bit down on her bottom lip. "And _that's_ why you left me so many messages about wanting to talk to me?"

"Well, I knew that you'd immediately think that I stood you up and I needed to tell you about what happened." He ran a hand through his light brown hair. "I eventually realized that you were either A: extremely pissed at me or B: kidnapped. I was worried."

Iris shook her head. She couldn't believe how bitchy she looked right now. Granted, she had a _right_ to be pissed about him standing her up. It wasn't like he _didn't_ do that. However, he had done it for okay- _ish_ reasons. She felt her pride sink low in her stomach when she looked up at him.

"Sorry for ignoring you," she huffed. "I didn't know."

He shrugged. "It's okay. You had a right to be angry."

They were silent for a moment, both fighting the shit-eating grins that threatened to appear on their faces. Iris thought about grabbing his hand again, but didn't dare move an inch, too afraid of what that gesture might reveal.

" _So_ ..." He rubbed the back of his head. "Do you still care about people at the station finding out you had a drink with _the_ –" He wiggled his fingers. "– Detective Dick Grayson?"

Iris shrugged. "The odds could be in your favor, Bird Boy."

#####  **__________________________**

Iris had never once stepped foot in Jumbo's Bar, and for good reason. It wasn't like she didn't like dive bars – she loved them, in fact. It was that Jumbo's had a reputation for spoiled food and shitty bands. Although, if one didn't partake in any food and only came to drink, she figured that maybe it could be fun. Iris just never had time after a long workday to go sit at the local bar by herself and wait for a horny, old man to take pity on her resting bitch face by buying her a drink. She'd much rather drink alone in her apartment. Either way, it was pretty pathetic.

Dick seemed to be a familiar face around here, though. Almost half of the staff welcomed him upon his arrival and sat both of them by the end of the bar, A.K.A. Dick's usual spot. Iris silently wondered how often he visited this place. Did he come as a stress reliever after work, or simply to observe people when the Robin gig got to be too much? She didn't voice these questions, afraid that they were too personal, that she might know too much.

By the time it reached ten PM, however, nothing seemed to be holding her back. They had only been at Jumbo's for two hours, and Iris was completely, downright _hammered_. She realized how easy it was to talk to Dick once she had a few beers in her, and how great he was of a listener. Dick, too, seemed to loosened up as they went onto their fourth Coors Light. The band playing wasn't that bad either, especially for a Monday night.

"Don't you hate this song?" Dick suddenly asked, taking a big gulp from his beer.

Iris looked over her shoulder at the band located to the side of the bar, eyeing the logo on the drum set with their name, _the Talking Strangers_. They were currently playing their own rendition of Taylor Swift's _I Knew You Were Trouble_. With a grin, Iris turned back to Dick and shook her head.

"Not gonna lie, I unironically _love_ Miss Swift." She released a drunken chuckle, eyes wrinkling at the sides. "And that's something I would definitely _not_ admit while sober, but here we are!"

Dick laughed along. "Can't say that I'm any better," he replied. "I unironically like some Nickleback songs."

"Oh, _no_!" She shouted and slammed the table with the palm of her head. The two erupted in fits of laughter, tears welling up in their eyes. Grumpy, old men stared at them. They were clearly making a scene, but the bartender liked Dick Grayson too much to quiet them. Besides, was anyone actually there for the band? Probably not.

For the first time in a while, everything felt totally normal. The alcohol made her head swoon and she felt like she was walking on cloud nine, but it was the sudden connection to Dick that made everything better. She had always felt a connection to him, even before the whole necklace thing, but it was different now. They related to each other in more ways than one. As Iris sat there silently, listening to him go on and on about how Nickleback did have _some_ good hits, she smiled and realized how much she cared about Dick Grayson.

He helped her when he didn't have to. He understood her. He made her feel normal when everything felt different.

Iris' cheeks flushed slightly when he beamed towards her, and she suddenly wasn't sure if it was from the alcohol she consumed or the fact that she just might like Dick Grayson more than she planned.

"I gotta confess something," she said, pressing her cheek against the half-empty bottle in her hands. Dick lifted a brow with interest. "I _might've_ not liked you when we first met because we were so similar."

He cocked his head to the side. " _Really_?"

"We both don't like people ... We keep to ourselves ... Same profession ..." She shrugged. "We're pretty similar, Grayson, as much as I hate to think about it. All I ever wanted before you was a partner that would leave me alone, but once I got it ... I don't know. Things changed. But then, you began to actually talk to me and –"

"You remembered why you wanted to work independently in the first place?"

Iris snapped in his direction. "You got it, champ."

"Or maybe you just really, _really_ don't like new people."

"Again," she said, pointing between them with a drunken smirk, "it's like we share a fucking brain!"

Behind them, the band's music shifted, and they began playing a lighter tune with an acoustic guitar. Iris' ears perked up, recognizing the song from just a few cords in. She smiled and allowed the familiar melody to calm her. Dick pointed towards the band with the end of his empty beer bottle. "You know this one? I've never heard of it."

"This was one of my favorite songs in college." Her chin fell into the palm of her hand as she watched the band with tired eyes. "I'm surprised they even know this song."

Dick went from watching her to the band playing the song's long intro. The four guys swayed to the music, practically consumed by the evident drugs they took hours ago. Two women began to slow dance in front of the tiny stage, holding each other close, and sharing a kiss as the melody carried them away. Dick licked his lips and slid his empty beer towards the bartender, lifting a finger when the man asked if he wanted another. Instead, Dick got to his feet and offered his hand towards Iris. She glanced at him with an arched brow.

"You wanna dance?"

Iris bit the inside of her cheek. Despite the alcohol running through her, she thought of saying, "No." She thought of pulling away like she usually did, as if they didn't just share several intimate moments throughout the past couple of hours. She thought of leaving, even though she didn't want to.

But the alcohol won this time. Or maybe it was her own desire.

With a creeping blush, Iris took his hand and walked with him to the small dance floor in front of the stage. Jumbo's certainly wasn't made for dancing, but she guessed they'd make the best of it. Dick pulled her into his embrace before she could even blink, and rested one hand on the small of her back, while the other clasped her right hand. Iris swallowed hard, looking up at him for a quick second, and allowing herself to melt into his embrace. She laced her fingers with his and curled her arm around his shoulder. The band sang on like it was their last dying breath:

_If it hurts this much then it must be love._  
_And it's a lottery, I can't wait to draw your name._  
_Oh, I'm trying to get to you, but time isn't on my side._  
_If the truth's the worst I can do, then I guess that I have lied._

Instinctively, her head leaned into the crook of his neck, and she felt his mouth brush by her ear. Iris inhaled the deep, musky scent lingering on his collar. She hadn't been this close to someone physically in a long time. Honestly, she couldn't remember the last time she let someone hold her like this. Probably a random guy in college. But _this_ ... this was different. His hold felt so intimate, but she didn't feel like running.

_Keeping me awake, it's been like this now for days._  
_My heart is out at sea, my head all over the place._  
_I'm losing sense of time and everything tastes the same._  
_I'll be home in a day, I fear that's a month too late._

Iris twirled one of her fingers through his short hair, pressing herself against him even more. Her whole body felt like it was on fire, and all she wanted was to let the flames devour her. Dick moved their intertwined bodies to the song, but neither of them could hear it anymore. All they could hear was their own breathing and the steady rhythm of each other's hearts. His warmth surrounded her; his embrace felt all the more fragile. For once, she didn't want him to let go.

_That night I slept on your side of the bed,_  
_So it was ready when you got home._

She lifted her head and searched his eyes. He raised his left hand then, grazing her collarbone before moving a few hairs from her face. Butterflies flooded her stomach. His thumb caressed her chin, and Iris wondered if this was how warm Icarus felt when he flew too close to the sun.

"Dick?" She whispered, voice strained.

_We're like knots and crosses, in that ..._

He breathed, "Yeah?"

_Opposites always attract._

Iris gulped, shoving the back of her hand in front of her mouth. Her stomach lurched. Something was wrong. With a muffled voice, she replied, "I think I'm going to be sick."

Dick blinked. " _Huh_?"

Before she could stop herself, Iris untangled herself from his hold and bolted towards the bathroom. She pushed through the door and headed for the first stall. She couldn't even lock the door before hurling herself in front of the toilet and vomiting her guts out. Everything tasted like a mix of beer and acid. This was totally embarrassing. Iris Kingsley was one to handle her alcohol pretty well, not puke it out the night of.

Not long after, a new person stumbled into the bathroom, and Iris didn't even have the strength to close the door. She was a little preoccupied with hurling every piece of food or drink she consumed throughout the night. As she clung to the porcelain lid for dear life, she heard a pair of shoes squeak beside her. A hand lightly picked up her dark hair and held it back. Iris groaned loudly as her stomach seemed to settle. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and hesitantly looked up at the person.

Dick Grayson smiled down at her, and immediately, a wave of embarrassment flashed over her face. Iris squeezed her eyes shut and slammed her hand down on the flush handle. "Sorry," she muttered as he released her hair. It fell gracefully against her back.

He shrugged before kneeling down next to her. "Believe it or not," he said, placing a strand of hair behind her ear, "you're not the first girl to visit the porcelain throne after dancing with me."

Iris held her hands over her eyes, blushing red with embarrassment. "I don't know what's wrong with me." She dragged her fingers down her face before staring at him with bloodshot irises. "I must've not eaten enough today."

"Then maybe you need food."

Her eyes went wide. "I am _not_ eating here!"

"No, no," he chuckled, lips curling into another drunken smile. Her stomach was doing flip flops, but it wasn't from the alcohol this time. "At my place. You can eat and stay there tonight."

Iris tilted her head. "And _why_ would I do that?"

"Who else is going to hold your hair back when you puke again?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you guys wanted to know the song Iris and Dick dance to, its “Always Attract” by You Me at Six!


	18. THE FIRE

#### CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

##### THE FIRE

#####  **__________________________**

**THEY** took a cab back to Dick's building. Both were obviously too intoxicated to get behind the wheel, and he assured Iris that he'd find a way to pick up his Porsche in the morning. Dick and Iris sat on the two opposite ends of the back seat, afraid that the alcohol running through their veins would let them get too close again, but their cab driver had somewhat of a different idea. Throughout the whole twenty-dollar ride, he blasted Marvin Gaye's _Let's Get It On_ at full volume, as if everyone in that tiny car was deaf in both ears. Dick and Iris shared a look of unease.

After plopping a thin, twenty-dollar bill into the driver's hand, Iris made sure to look at the front of his car as she slid out. No turquoise beads heading from his mirror. No weird symbols. She was clearly drunk and worrying herself over nothing, but Iris couldn't shake the weird feeling she got when she noticed the driver staring at her as she walked away. It was stupid. She was being _stupid_.

They both hardly had any balance while riding the elevator up to Dick's apartment. Iris clutched the side railing, and it felt like every cell in her body was rising as the elevator flew up to the eighth floor. Dick held onto her shoulders when the elevator came to a sudden halt. However, Dick still needed a little help himself, and Iris wound her arms tightly around his own shoulders as they stumbled down the corridor to his apartment.

Why did she assume that this would be a good idea in the first place? Going out with your coworker ... dancing with him ... almost _locking lips_... It was a recipe for disaster and she was dumb enough to fall for it!

But still ... it felt nice to let loose. She needed to allow herself that once in a while.

"I'm _starving_ ," she announced, staggering into his apartment first. Iris sprinted forward and into the kitchen, whipping his cabinets open for something to eat. "Don't you eat anything with a high amount of salt?"

Dick slammed his front door shut and leaned against it, trying to catch his breath. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he muttered, "I try not to. It's not good for my diet."

" _Okay_ , Mr. Weight Watchers," she snickered, digging through the contents of the last cabinet. "I just want something with –" She paused. Finally, way in the back, she found a bag of potato chips.

"Oh. My. God," she breathed, plucking the large, family size bag out and closing the cabinet. Dick looked up and noticed she was holding it out as if she was imitating that scene from _the Lion King_. "It's the messiah, Dick."

He raised a brow. "I'm pretty sure that's just a bag of chips."

"Well, it's special _to_ _me_."

Iris ripped open the bag and plunge her hand in, stuffing her face with handfuls of the salty goodness. She sat on top of the counter for what felt like forever, eating more and more chips until her stomach felt like it was going to rot. Dick simply watched from the doorway, hardly able to move. He was afraid that he would fall right in front of her if he did.

She ate more than half the bag when she finally set it to the side. Sliding off the counter, Iris rubbed at her forehead and muttered, "I think I need to go to bed."

"I think I do too," Dick replied.

Iris padded over to where he still stood, swaying from side to side, and held out her arm. "Let's help each other get there," she offered.

After a moment of hesitation, Dick fell into her hold gratefully. They walked down the long hallway to the master bedroom. Dick stumbled a few times along the way, which was _exactly_ what he was afraid of, but Iris didn't seem to notice. They carried each other, walking a step at a time, and held onto the other as if their lives depended on it.

"I didn't realize how long this walk would be," Iris mumbled under her breath. Dick laughed in her ear, causing a light pink to flush across her cheeks.

As they finally hobbled into the master bedroom, Iris could've _sworn_ she saw some kind of bright light guiding the way. Not a _you're gonna die_ bright light, but the kind of light that told you, _Finally. You are home_. Using all the strength left in her body, Iris lifted Dick onto the far side of the bed and ended up flopping herself right next to him.

They held onto one another for hours, falling asleep to each other's heartbeats once again. It was becoming their very own bad habit. Just as bad as her cigarette addiction.

The alarm clock flashed the numbers _2:56_ in a bright red when her eyes finally fluttered open, and for the second time ever, Iris found herself alone in Dick Grayson's bed. She sat up against the pillow and ran a hand through her unwashed hair. An aching pain emerged in the middle of her temples, a subtle throb to remind her of the upcoming hangover that would soon overcome her in just a mere couple of hours. Iris placed her feet on the ground and began to walk to the master bathroom.

The reflection she saw in the mirror was absolutely _terrifying_. Yesterday's mascara was smudged around her eyes. Her brows looked wild and uncombed. Don't even get Iris started on her hair. With a low groan, she grabbed the face cloth hanging on the side of the sink and ran it under hot water. She brought it to her eyes, washing the dried mascara away, before using the ponytail on her wrist to tie her tangled hair back.

Iris felt a chill run through her as she walked out of the bathroom. Her jacket dangled off the edge of the bed. She didn't know when she had taken it off before going to sleep, but apparently, that happened. Spotting a bathrobe hanging on the door, Iris took it off the hook and slid the warm material on her body.

The whole apartment was eerily quiet as she walked down the long corridor. To be fair, it was in the early hours of the morning. But it was so quiet that Iris was surprised to find Dick leaning against the kitchen island, nursing a bottle of rum in his hands. The single light above his head swung from side to side. Iris moved closer to the kitchen, causing Dick to lift his head.

"Is that my bathrobe?"

Iris did a small twirl. "I thought it looked better on me."

He laughed, and she couldn't stop her lips from curling at the sound of it. Dick took another swig of the bottle as Iris stood beside him, placing her elbows on the counter and leaning into it as he did. "You're going to drink that whole thing on your own?" She asked, arching a brow.

Dick shrugged. "Thought about it. Now that you're here, I guess not."

"Surprisingly, I've never been a fan of late-night drinking. Late-night _snacking_ is a completely different story, though."

He chuckled before exhaling deeply and gripping both sides of his forehead. Dick rubbed at his temples in circles. "I can already feel the hangover coming on. Bruce once said to me that the best way to make one go away is –"

"To drink more," she finished, and his stare flickered over to her. Iris scratched the back of her head. "My dad used to say the same thing."

"Did he mean a lot to you? Your dad?"

She licked at the corners of her dry lips.

"It's just ..." Dick continued on quickly, trying to save himself. "You've never really talked about your family with me –"

"I care about my family, obviously," she replied, and then paused. Iris hugged her arms around herself. "But – um ... my dad. He died a few years ago – when I was twenty-three – and after that, I just needed ... to get away, I guess. And that's how I ended up in Detroit." Her shoulders slumped. "Detroit had ... new opportunities, an escape route –"

Dick snickered, "And pollution."

"Alright, that's it." She seized the bottle sitting idly in front of him and took a large gulp, wiping the corners of her mouth as it burned down her throat. "I told you my secret. You tell me one of yours."

"How about we make it interesting?" He asked, snatching the bottle back. "I tell you a secret. You guess if it's true or false. If you're right, I drink. And then it's your turn."

Iris smirked. "Fine. You're on."

"Okay ..." Dick popped the cap off and swirled the bottle around. He tilted his head to the side, trying to come up with something. Eventually, he pointed a finger in her direction. "I totally wanted a cape when I first got the Robin suit."

She furrowed her brow. "Obviously, not. False. Capes are lame."

He smirked the tiniest bit, hesitating before sliding the bottle across the kitchen island. She caught it quickly. " _Wrong_. I was a kid when I got the suit. _Of course_ , I wanted a cape. I could do without it now."

"Fair enough," she said, looking down at the contents of the bottle. It was half-full. "Um ... I always wanted to be a detective."

"False."

"You answered that rather quickly. How do you know?"

Dick shrugged. "I just know."

Iris hesitated, narrowing her eyes in his direction, before bringing the bottle up to her lips and taking a sip. Dick threw his hands up in victory. "Hey, hey! Don't get cocky. You're only right because I _did_ first want to be a chef up until I was twelve and I almost set my kitchen on fire. After that, I became obsessed with the _Nancy Drew_ books and knew I wanted to be a detective."

"I'm still right, though!" He grinned.

She only rolled her eyes.

"Hmm ..." Dick tapped against the marble counter. "I absolutely love pineapple, but I can't stand it on pizza."

Iris paused, resting her chin in her hands. "True."

He smiled and took a large gulp, wincing as the rum slid down his throat. "Did I tell you that before?"

"No," she argued, "only _idiots_ don't like pineapple on pizza."

He feigned a shocked expression while handing her the bottle. Iris giggled under her breath. "Let's see ... I ... I watch a rerun of _Friends_ almost every night."

"False. A person can't watch _Friends_ that much."

She passed him the bottle. "You gotta listen closely, Bird Boy. I said, ' _Almost_ every night.' Sometimes I like to mix it up with some _Full House_."

"I guess you can't go wrong with that," he replied, sliding a bit closer to her. The bottle rested in the middle of them, and Iris swallowed hard at the close proximity between them. "I was never allowed to drive the Batmobile when I lived with Bruce."

"Has to be false. That's just cruel."

Dick shook his head, and Iris' mouth fell open. "Wow," she said, "what an asshole."

Iris reached out to clasp her hand around the neck of the bottle, but Dick beat her to it. He placed his hand on the top and brought it closer to him. "My turn again."

"Hey! That's against the rules."

" _Technically_ , we didn't establish any rules.

Iris lifted a brow, but eventually gave up. She stood up straight and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for him to open his pretty lips once again.

Her conscious groaned inside of her head: _Can you_ please _stop thinking about his –_

"I got one," he said, his shoulder brushing against hers. His scent began to surround her, and Iris didn't feel like taking a step back. She swallowed down the bile rising in her throat when he tapped a finger against her chest. " _You_... have a crush on me."

It felt like he had knocked the wind out of her. Iris stopped breathing, pursing her lips as he waited for an answer. Her knuckles went white as they locked around her own arms. "You ..." She shook her head. "You can't make the secret about the other person. It has to be about yourself."

"No rules," he reminded.

Iris cleared her throat, quickly latching her fingers onto the bottle once again. "I pass. You know, since there are _no rules_."

He grinned slightly and gestured for her to go on. His hand lingered on the edge of the counter, just a few inches from her own. Iris held her breath, afraid of the words that threatened to fall off her tongue. She was going to combust if she didn't say them. Last thing she wanted was for him to clean Iris Kingsley bits off his floor.

" _You_ like _me_ –" She paused, inhaling heavily. "– More than just a coworker."

Dick placed his hand on top of hers, curling his fingers around the bottle's neck, and took in a large gulp of the burning rum. He didn't have to say the answer. She didn't even need a hint. Iris already knew. _True_.

"We stood in your kitchen a few weeks ago," he moved closer, invading her space, "just like this." The bottle slid against the marble and landed right near her hand. "You _wanted_ to kiss me, but you were scared."

Iris closed her eyes for a second, sucking in a breath of air through her teeth, and tried her _damnedest_ to ignore the fact that she could hear his heartbeat in the stillness of that moment. Slowly, she fluttered her eyes back open, and locked her fingers on the bottle. Iris gulped and leaned away, taking a long swig from the rum, eyes never leaving his.

Dick didn't need a verbal answer either. _True_.

He took the rum from her hands and set it on the counter. Iris didn't even have a moment to breathe, because he was leaning in more, caressing her cheek with one hand. He used the other to bring her closer by the small of her back and Iris, truthfully, didn't have the strength to move away. His breath fanned her cheeks, causing goosebumps to erupt over her entire body. Her leg curled around his; her hands found his hair, and all she wanted was to take in the scent of alcohol that lingered on his mouth forever.

"I'm afraid I might actually like you, Dick Grayson," she whispered against his lips, "and that might _really_ fuck everything up."

His eyes lifted, burning into her own. "I'm okay with that."

With a devilish smirk, his lips captured her own, and Iris felt every butterfly inside her body burst. She had never allowed herself to be so unarmed or out of control, but when his mouth touched her own, all she ever wanted was to be held in his arms, letting his warmth envelop her. She pressed her chest against his and felt his heartbeat through his t-shirt, thumping like a drum. Her necklace felt so heavy and pulsated a bright, blue light each time he touched her. Iris could smell the musk on his collar, but it was only when his tongue entered her mouth that she was able to fully divulge in every part of him, tasting the fiery rum that still remained on his lips.

Dick's mouth suddenly left her own, placing sloppy, wet kisses against her cheek, before sliding a leg in between her thighs. His lips ghosted across her jaw and marked every inch of her exposed skin. Iris instinctively grinded against his thigh, begging for more friction – the kind of friction she so rarely got. Suddenly, she felt his bulge press into her heat, but that only made her want him closer. She wanted to lower her hands, to help him remove his pants, but it seemed that he had other plans.

Iris felt like she was left out in the cold when his lips left her neck. She opened her eyes — which were now shining a vivid turquoise color — and looked down to see Dick on his knees, playing with the zipper on the jeans she so gracefully decided to sleep in. Her palms flickered with light, but they did not persist, refusing to burn him with a simple touch. Dick viewed up at her with his big, caramel-colored irises, stare full of lust and passion, and everything in between. He stopped, tracing circles into her hips, and asked, "Is it okay if I ..."

He was asking _permission_. Iris swallowed hard, not knowing what to think. To be honest, she never thought they would get to this point. She had never been too fond of sex, always waiting for it to be with a person she truly cared about. She regretted one night stands more than the average person – _when_ she had them, that is.

But something about this ... it felt _right_. It didn't feel regrettable. Maybe it was the rum running through her veins. Maybe it was the hangover that was surfacing against her skull. But Iris Kingsley wanted to be completely and absolutely consumed by Dick Grayson.

With a soft smile, she nodded. Dick didn't waste any time. He unzipped her jeans, shucking all those layers down to her ankles so she could kick them away. His mouth grazed her waist, and his hot breath against her skin made every hair on her body stand up. But when his tongue finally entered her, that was another feeling _entirely_.

Finally, Iris Kingsley knew what it felt like to be devoured by a fire, and she was afraid that she'd never want to escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY!!!! Sorry about that little fade to black 😓 I did want to do full-on smut, but the chapter was getting so long and writing out highly detailed smut after their conversation just seemed like it ruined the moment.


	19. BAGGAGE

#### CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

##### BAGGAGE

#####  **__________________________**

**RUBBING** one hand over her eyelids, Iris reached out to grab the alarm clock off her bedside table and felt nothing but warm skin. _That's not right_. She let her hand rest there for a minute, face twisting with confusion, as she wondered why her alarm clock suddenly felt like a manly, toned chest. Unless ...

Her eyes snapped open. She sat up. Curled up in the sheets beside her, one hand hanging over the edge of the mattress, was _Dick Grayson_ , sleeping like a bear in hibernation. _Fuck_ , _fuck_ , _fuck_ ... Iris looked down and immediately noticed that she was _only_ wearing one of his long-sleeved shirts. Running a hand through her hair, she viewed around, taking in the master bedroom. Her clothes were strewn on the other end of the room, while his were nowhere to be found.

 _This is bad_ , she thought. _This is_ really _bad._ How could she possibly face him at work, more or less when he _wakes up_?

She glanced at the clock sitting on his bedside table. _5:21 A.M._ And somehow, the sunlight was already bursting through the fucking window. She needed to leave. Now.

Iris swung her feet off the bed and felt a sudden pain in her temples once they hit the floor. The pounding only increased as she walked towards her clothes right near the bathroom door, thumping against her forehead as if that was its job. Iris kneeled down to grab her jeans, but as the aching became too much, she found herself doubling over and pressing her forehead into the carpet. "This is _awful_ ," she whispered, hands fisted into her hair.

 _Get up!_ Her subconscious screamed. _Get up before he wakes up and you make a fool out of yourself!_

Iris huffed and brought herself up slowly, but the pain didn't lessen. She'd have to suffer through this if she wanted to get out alive. Dick was still snoring soundly in the bed, hardly moving a muscle. She tugged on her jeans and turtleneck before slipping on her favorite ankle boots. Pulling her unwashed hair back into a high ponytail, Iris spotted her coat and purse hanging off the armchair in the corner of the room and grabbed them as quietly as she could.

Dick released another loud snore. Iris glanced over at him. Despite the hangover hammering against her skull, she walked back over to the California King and kneeled on his side. He was in a deep sleep. Iris still found it hard to look at him. Shame crept up on her like a ghost, but she didn't regret giving in to her own desires. She didn't regret holding him so tightly that she felt like her arms would break. She didn't regret locking her legs around his waist just to feel him more inside her. She didn't even regret letting him see such an intimate side of her, something hardly anyone got to see. Iris didn't regret Dick Grayson one bit.

So why did she want to leave so suddenly? Even she couldn't answer that question. Cautiously, she lifted her hand, brushing her fingers across his forehead, moving pieces of hair from his eyes. Her touch lingered for a moment – dusting across his cheekbone, remembering the way his thumbs caressed her own – before she realized how _fucking_ _weird_ she was being.

Iris stood and pulled on her peacoat. Slinging her bag across her shoulder, she did her best to tiptoe out of the room, careful to not let the heel of her boot hit the floor too hard. Once she was at the door, she looked around the room one last time, making sure she didn't forget anything. Finally, her eyes landed on Dick, who was rubbing at his nose and pulling the comforter up higher. Iris frowned, tapping her finger against the doorframe, before quietly slipping out of his apartment.

#####  **__________________________**

Her hangover only got worse as the morning went on. Iris almost found herself stowing away in the Uber that took her home. She ultimately decided that she was calling into work and staying home. After shutting all the blinds in her apartment, Iris downed some ibuprofen and retired to her bed for the rest of the day. Not even a _Friends_ rerun could keep her company. She was already sensitive to light as it is.

Normally, she'd feel bad about taking a day off. She hated being sick, and hated hangovers even more. When she managed to get the flu a year ago, she remembered having a mental breakdown about not being able to come into the station because she didn't want to contaminate anyone else. But today was different – this _hangover_ was different. The pain just wouldn't go away, and she remembered _everything_ from last night. Iris hoped that she'd at least get the decency of blacking out the night completely. That wasn't in the cards for her, though, and she was left dreaming the day away of Dick's hands over her body and his hot breath in the crook of her neck.

Thankfully, it was Friday, and she was now allowed a three day weekend. Iris decided she'd take this whole weekend to stay in, even though her conscious begged her to do something. As her hangover lessened once the day came to a close, she finally checked her phone to see that she missed three calls from Dick, all within four-hour intervals. She missed even more messages, but she didn't bother looking at those. Iris simply set her phone down and managed to sleep until her alarm clock woke her up at the ass crack of dawn the next morning.

He called again. And again. _And again_. Her phone was practically flooded by Dick Grayson all weekend, and maybe Iris deserved it. She did completely vanish from his place. It was also a tad hypocritical of her to disappear and then ignore him, just as he had done to her the first time they made plans. But she just needed some time. She needed to _think_.

Iris didn't like people very often. She never usually spent the night sharing a bottle of rum with someone, or allowed them to touch the most intimate parts of her. She didn't open her heart. But that's exactly what she did with Dick, and that may be very, _very_ catastrophic for the both of them.

She had baggage. A couple of suitcases worth. Iris didn't like sharing much. She pushed and pushed people away until they had fallen off the cliff that was her love life. She didn't want people to get too close, and she was scared – _so very scared_ – to love someone so much, only to have them leave, like her dad did.

Iris was going to push him away, like how she did with everyone that tried to get too close. Dick was right at the edge of the cliff, holding his hand out to her, asking for her to reel him back in, but all it took was one shove to send him plummeting. It was what was best. She didn't need anyone getting caught up in her own issues.

Someone will love Dick Grayson, but someone wasn't Iris Kingsley.

The final push would come Monday morning, as she strode right into the station, not looking back. She kept her stare forward. No greetings, no hand waves. Iris needed to get to work and stay there. Today she would finally cement the drowned body case. She quickly regarded Charlie before sitting at her desk and shrugging off her jacket. And she stayed there for most of the day, not even casting a glance towards Dick's office. Although, she _had_ heard him get in an hour after her. (His shoes were too loud to ignore.) Besides that, she was completely and utterly ignorant of his presence, and it might just stay that way.

It was like they had never once said a word to each other. Perhaps it was better that way.

"Did something happen?"

Iris looked up. Charlie was hanging over the cubicle wall, as usual, and cocked her head to the side. A sigh escaped Iris' lips before she replied, "Nope. Just fine."

" _Really_?" Charlie implored. "Because you're even more antisocial than normal. Seriously, if something is wrong and you need to talk –"

"I said, 'I'm fine,' Charlie!" Iris huffed, unaware that her reaction was going to be that loud. Charlie's jaw shifted, irritation bubbling beneath her skin. She rolled her eyes before sitting down. Iris instantly regretted her response and debated on going over to apologize, but fate had other plans.

A dark shadow appeared over Charlie, and she lifted her head to see Dick Grayson throwing a folder right in front of her keyboard. "I need you to look through this and find the contact information of all the suspects reported in the case file. Thanks," he said, eyes roaming over to Iris' desk.

Iris didn't _plan_ on looking over. She hadn't planned on acknowledging him at all today. But something had taken over her – _curiosity_ , _interest_ – and she couldn't stop herself from raising her eyes and meeting his stare over the cubicle wall. Her hand went tight on the mouse. Her whole body began to sweat.

She looked away just as quickly, pretending like nothing had ever happened. Iris was still good at that, and so was he, but maybe he wasn't up to playing that game today.

"Wait, excuse me," he muttered, throwing his hands in the air. "Can we cut the bullshit for a sec?"

Iris froze. In fact, _everyone_ froze, only managing to turn their heads in Dick's direction when he raised his voice. Charlie pursed her red lips and lifted a brow.

Walking up to the corner of her cubicle, Dick stared down at Iris, as if he could burn holes into her back. Iris didn't blink and simply kept her eyes on her computer screen. "I should rephrase that. My apologies," he said. "Can we cut _your_ bullshit, Iris Kingsley?"

She wouldn't move. She _couldn't_ show her weakness. Just one more push and he would be flying off the cliff.

"Okay, you're not going to talk, so I'll just talk to you." He leaned down the slightest bit, casting a glare over his shoulder at all the wandering eyes. "Even though just about _everyone_ is watching, I have something to say and you're going to listen."

Iris clenched her teeth, heart hammering in her chest.

"No matter how much you ignore me, or berate me, or disregard me, I was _there_ for you, Iris, more than a friend ever would be. Because, _fuck_ , we're not friends – not even _coworkers_ – at this point. I don't know if I can ever be _just friends_ with you now. I care about you. I care about you so fucking much, and you still just ... push me away. I reach and I reach and it's just fucking _useless_." He shook his head. The office was deadly quiet. "Why do you _do that_? Why won't you let me in?"

She was silent. Her eyes went blurry as a few tears filled her lash line.

"Okay, cool. You're still not going to talk. That's fine." He stood up straighter, trying to maintain a stance that everything was fine, even though he felt like he was crumbling. "I'm over this. I'm done with all of this. Please, don't call me anymore when things get tough. Don't act like you care, because I know you don't. You've shown that to me time and time again, and as much as I wanted to ignore it because I care so much for you, I'm not ignoring it anymore. Let's just pretend like the other doesn't exist whenever we see each other. God knows you're good at doing that."

Iris sniffled. She hadn't wanted to, but her nose was running and she couldn't stop the sob clogging itself in her throat. She looked over at him finally, teary-eyed, and wanted nothing more than to tell him that none of that was true, that she cared for him but it was far more complicated than that. But it was a lost cause. He was angry and he wouldn't understand right now. Maybe he would someday.

Wiping the end of her nose, Iris muttered, "Dick, I –"

He was already turning away, scanning the room as everyone went back to their business. "This isn't a fucking show," he called out and retreated to his office, not looking back.

#####  **__________________________**

To say that she felt like shit would be an understatement.

Iris knew where she had gone wrong. She knew that Dick had a right to be furious with her. She could even understand why everyone was staring as he mouthed off to her about how bad of a person she was. (I mean, she would've done the same. Iris didn't fault them for watching.) But it was the fact that she had to revel in Dick's speech throughout the whole day. She had wanted to be fully consumed in her work, but still found herself without nothing done. Iris stared into the computer screen with Dick's words repeating over and over again in her brain.

 _I was there for you_.

_I don't know if I can ever be just friends with you._

_I care about you._

_I'm done with all of this._

_Don't act like you care, because I know you don't._

It was enough to make her leave early, and Iris felt everyone's stares searing into her back as she exited the station. Not even Charlie had piped up to say goodbye. Iris guessed that everyone was just as embarrassed as she was, or they simply pitied her. She couldn't tell which was worse.

Iris headed out into the frigid air and buried her face into her coat. She almost forgot that Christmas was right around the corner. The bright, rainbow lights surrounding the town reflected across her irises, reminding her of the delightful holiday season. She had no idea what she would be doing. Probably staying home, per usual, seeing as her mom didn't like to host the holidays anymore after her dad's passing. Now that she thought of it, Iris hadn't even gotten a call from her mom recently, who typically called to wish her a merry Christmas at least a week before the actual holiday. Maybe it would be good for Iris to check in on _her_ for once. God knows that she probably needed someone like a mother right now after these shitty couple of months.

Iris scrolled through her recent calls to see when she last spoke to her mother. Exactly six months ago. _Shit_ , Iris thought, pressing down on the call button. She began to fast-walk across the street, eager to make the early train home tonight, while also trying to balance her phone between her shoulder and ear. Iris dug through her bag to make sure she didn't forget anything at her desk. (Last thing she wanted was to go back there again.)

It was on the third ring that Iris saw a pair of headlights flashing right in front of her. She paused and suddenly realized that she was standing _right_ in the middle of the street. As the van's lights became brighter, blurring her entire vision, Iris finally understood what a deer felt like when it was stuck in the middle of a dead-end road. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and she had just enough time to end the call as she closed her eyes and waited for the impact of her body crushing against the roof of the car.

But that didn't happen.

There was an abrupt halt. Tires screeched against the pavement. Iris felt nothing. All she heard was a bunch of voices piling out of the vehicle.

Iris opened her eyes, watching a group of people jump out of the black van, running straight for her. She blinked. "What the _fu_ –"

Hands wrapped around her arms. A dozen voices filtered through her ears before a bag was placed over her head. Iris shouted, but it was no use. She yanked herself out of their grasp for a weapon, feeling for her gun that was usually on her hip, but there was nothing. It was back at the station. She _knew_ she had forgotten something. And now, she had no weapon, no ally, _nothing_. Her lights weren't even turning on.

Iris screamed as loud as she possibly could, fighting against her captors' grip, while her lungs threatened to give out. It was useless. No one heard her as she was thrown into the van and driven off into the dead of night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY OKAY HERE ME OUT. I know Iris kinda acted out of line and rude, but she has reasons!!! She has major abandonment issues after her dad died and she doesn't want to love someone in fear that they will leave her. She thinks of love as a burden and doesn't want to think about it. So she ignores Dick and hopes he won't like her anymore :(((
> 
> In case you guys wanted to see a song that captures her feelings perfectly, especially in relation to this chapter, "Sorry" by Halsey is it!


	20. UNITY

#### CHAPTER NINETEEN

##### UNITY

#####  **__________________________**

**IRIS** hadn't woken up in a lot of foreign places in her life. She usually always ended up right back in her bed. Only once or twice had she tortured her drunk self into a one night stand, finding herself in sheets that weren't her own, but she continuously managed to make her way out before anyone could see her. This situation, however, didn't seem as likely. Because not only did she wake up in a place that wasn't her bedroom, but she _also_ couldn't move.

Fluttering her eyes open, Iris was greeted with the sight of a large, empty room. A single lightbulb swung from side to side above her head, blurring her vision, and she had to cup a hand around her eyes as she sat up. Blinking rapidly, she scanned the half-empty room. It was mostly dark, except for the one spot of light. She laid on a ratty sofa. There was a coffee table in front of her, littered with scratches, with a glass of water and pastry sitting on it, and an old TV set blasting the History Channel. The theme song to _Ancient Aliens_ played softly through her ears, but she hardly paid attention when something became very clear to her.

She was chained to the couch.

"Holy fuck," she muttered under her breath.

Iris tugged at the chain, hoping for a small bit of release, but she got nothing. Whoever captured her here, they made quite a show to keep her in place. The heavy chain was wrapped around the whole side of the couch before it was enclosed around her left wrist. Iris began to panic. Her hands formed into fists as she yanked on the chain. The metal was digging into her delicate skin, creating sharp marks and redness around her wrists. She gave up after a while, looking to the ceiling for some sort of way out. It was like she was sitting in a sea of pitch black.

Without thinking, Iris released an incoherent scream. She wailed at the top of her lungs, hoping that she would shatter glass or pierce someone's eardrums – _anything_ to get another form of human interaction. An echo became her only reply. Her right fist pounded into the sofa, while her feet stomped against the floor. She breathed heavily through her nostrils and began screaming, "HELP! SOMEONE GET ME OUT OF HERE! HELLO!"

Clearly, she had made enough noise, because an entrance was suddenly cracking open, and she noticed a doorway within the darkness of the empty room. On the other side, she heard commotion, dozens of people speaking at once, and as the door shut, there was nothing but silence.

This room was slightly soundproof. What she would give to have not left her weapon in her desk drawer.

Footsteps entered the room, and soon Iris was facing a man with tired eyes and a wary expression. His stared bugged out at her and she clamped her mouth shut once they came face to face. He lifted his hands in the air, "Be _quiet_."

That was all it took to make her anger spike.

"Are you _kidding me_?" She answered, voice low, before raising it to her highest peak, "YOU FUCKING _IDIOT_! I WON'T BE QUIET UNTIL YOU EXPLAIN WHERE I AM AND WHY I'M CHAINED TO _GODDAMN_ SOFA!"

The man looked back at the door, brows knitting together. When he met Iris' angry stare again, he put out his hands and stepped forward slowly. "Um – well, miss – uh – everything will be explained soon. I promise."

He really shouldn't have gotten that close.

Iris reached out with her free hand, locking her fingers around the man's t-shirt collar. Their noses were touching and he was breathing heavily against her face. She watched him swallow hard. The sight was almost _too_ enjoyable.

"Explain to me," she snarled, " _now_."

"I – I –"

Iris yanked on his collar again. "Spit it out!"

"I –"

She hissed in his direction, giving him a free moment to pull himself out of her grip. He stumbled backwards, almost falling into the coffee table and giving it another scratch. She debated on reaching out again, but he was already too far away. The man rubbed at his collar line and sprinted towards the door. "HEY!" Iris called, slamming her fist into the pleather cushions. "DON'T _LEAVE_ –"

The door shut with a slam. She was left in the silence again. Iris leaned her head back and slapped a hand against her forehead. "Fuck my life," she whispered, even though no one would be able to hear it anyways. She could shout it to the heavens if she wanted to, and she would still be locked in this goddamn room.

An idea sparked in her brain. She suddenly remembered that her phone had been in her back pocket as she left the station. What were the chances that it was still there.

Iris sat up and awkwardly moved her arm back, fishing into the back pocket of her jeans. She felt something rectangular and solid, and sure enough, there was her phone. Iris almost screamed when she saw it. Whoever these captors were, they were a bunch of _idiots_ to leave her with a phone. Pressing down on the power button, Iris readied herself to dial 9-1-1 before someone else could come back in. But then there was one little problem.

The room had no signal.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me!" She screeched, pinching the bridge of her nose. Iris looked back down on her phone and also noticed that she had half a battery left. She groaned and turned the device back off to save her battery life, slipping it back into her jean pocket. With her luck, it would still die by morning, depending on what time it was.

Slowly, Iris turned her attention back to her left hand, eyeing the chain. She glanced at her free hand. Maybe she could do something with this. She didn't have light-up hands for nothing, right?

Harnessing all the anger inside of herself, Iris exhaled a heavy breath and tried to bring the light out. She flexed and unflexed her fingers, waiting for the intense burning to begin. She hovered the free hand over the chain and waitedfor at least _something_ to happen. There was nothing.

No lights. Not even a burn.

Iris huffed and wiggled her fingers over the chain. "Come on," she muttered. "Why won't you work?!" Her necklace felt normal. It wasn't heavy, nor did it scorch her chest. She had _nothing_ left inside her. Absolutely nothing! Of course, when she actually needed this burden to help her out, it was completely useless.

But maybe that was why. She felt so out of energy that it was probably affecting her powers. Her normal energy rate affected when the lights would start and end – that's why she could turn them off when she calmed down. Whoever knocked her out before had done it pretty hard, and now she felt like a living couch potato.

The last thing she should be thinking about right now we a cigarette. She should've been crafting another way out. And yet ...

Iris sat up and slid herself over to the glass of water. It was the only thing available that could sustain her sudden appetite for nicotine. She struggled with grasping it. The glass was so close, but _just_ out of her reach. Iris cursed under her breath, fingers just about grazing the surface, as the door opened once again.

She froze in place, hand out to grip the glass, expression full of frustration. Iris was pretty sure a sheen of sweat had formed on her brow as well. These next footsteps were loud, commanding and imposing. She swallowed hard as the darkness enveloping the figure filtered away, bringing them into the bright light. Her brow shot up. This was the last thing she expected to see.

It was another man, but he was _handsome_. Long face and broad shoulders. Straight nose, forming into a tiny button at the end. Warm, brown, _kind_ eyes with just a hint of wickedness in them. The perfect dark, messy hair look and a smile that would make most women fall to their knees.

Thankfully for Iris, she wasn't most women. But the longer she stared at this man, she could be.

With a sense of gracefulness, the man strode forward. His stare didn't break from Iris'. He smiled softly, leaning down and plucking the glass of water. For a second, Iris thought he was taking it away, and then he held it out to her. She gulped, tasting the dryness of her throat, and took the glass from his hands. After a moment of hesitation, their eyes broke and she downed the whole glass.

"You seem pretty thirsty. I'll make sure to keep your pitcher full."

An accent. She wasn't sure what it was, but there was _something_ there, as if he had lived many different lives in such a short amount of time.

"I didn't know cottonmouth was a side effect from getting knocked in the head," she quipped, meeting his eyes one again. He smirked and poured her another glass. She took it very willingly. "Thanks."

He bowed his head and stood up straighter. "I'm sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, Miss Kingsley. But you've put up a fight for a long time. I wish it could've happened differently." He laced his hands behind his back. "My name is Nicholas Patli, but you can call me Nick, if you please. I'm the head of the Coatls. I'm sure you've done your research?"

In that moment, all Iris could do was tell herself to _stay calm_ , which was regretfully hard considering her situation. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ She tried not to show fear or surprise. In a way, she always knew it would come to this. She couldn't outrun a group of psychopaths forever. Iris wasn't like Dick. She wasn't a hero and didn't have enough street-smarts to find a way to run away.

She raised her chin, staring him down. "Where am I?"

"A warehouse near Port Austin," he said quickly. "We wanted to have our meeting place right by the water."

Iris swallowed. She realized now that maybe his smile was a bit more vile than soft.

"So why are we here?" She huffed, slapping her free hand against the sofa. "You want the necklace? Have at it. _Please_ , take the burden. Or is this about that Aztec god and goddess reuniting thing? You know, that 'once they're reunited, a new world will arise at their hands' bullshit."

"You _have_ done your research."

"I have my ways, _Nick_." Iris sat up a tiny bit, looking around for another person lingering in the shadows. "So where is he? That husband I'm supposed to meet? Maybe he can get this necklace off."

Nick grinned big. She slowly turned her head towards him, watching the devilish way he walked forward and sat on the coffee table in front of her. Bile rose into her mouth. If he got any closer, she was going to scream _bloody murder_ –

"You're looking at him, love," he replied, clasping her hand in his. A shriek clogged itself inside her throat. She didn't have enough time to react before he was speaking again, " _I_ was chosen by the Great God, Xiuhtecuhtli, to take on his duties and bring a new world. I gathered my followers. I found my resources." Iris noticed his sleeve lift up a little, and sure enough, he was wearing a bracelet adorned with a big, fire opal stone. _Xiuhtecuhtli was the Aztec god of fire and day_.

"All I had left," he smiled, "was to find _you_."

Lifting a hand, a few flames flickered at the tops of his fingertips, but vanished just as quickly.

Iris immediately yanked her hand out of his grip. "You're not a god. You're a fucking _cult leader_."

Nick snorted. "Of course, I am."

"Wait," she blinked, " _what_?"

"When I was a boy, I was teased constantly for my stutter, even my accent," he began, taking the now-empty glass from her lap. "Once I got rid of the stutter, I went through puberty — all I wanted was to be loved. I wanted something I never had. And then, I looked into my own folklore more ... I learned the history of the gods and goddess ... and when I laid eyes on the last fire opal ever created in a museum exhibit on Aztec art, I knew it had to be mine. Only then would I become Xiuhtecuhtli, a god loved by his people."

Iris glanced at the bracelet again. "Did you steal it?"

He laughed. "Yes, of course, and then I had it fashioned into a piece of jewelry that would match my lovely wife's, whenever I would meet her." Clearing his throat, he added, "The stone still chose me, though. I just had to find ways to let it come to _me_."

_If he stole it ... the stone clearly hadn't chosen him_ , she deduced. _He was still just a man. The stone hadn't give him full power. He wasn't the reincarnation of a god, just a petty thief._

"After that, I found my followers," he continued. "And the rest is _history_. Now that I've found you, everything can come to fruition."

She arched a brow. "You became a cult leader because you were bullied as a kid? Are you _serious_?"

His expression didn't fall. He _was_ serious.

"Okay, listen to me here, Nick." Iris sat up and patted his hand. He grinned at her touch. "I don't know if you know this, but chaining a girl to a sofa isn't really a way to win over her affections –"

He scoffed, "You're _here_ , aren't you?"

"– _Furthermore_ ," she interrupted, "you gotta tell me what I can do. What can I give you to get me out of here? There must be _something_ you want since you've been looking for me this whole time."

_Please, don't say sex. Please, don't say sex. Please, don't say sex._

"Precisely," Nick agreed. "I want you _here_ – right now, forever. _You_ , Miss Kingsley, were chosen to bear Chalchiuhtlicue's gifts and now we must be officially united as husband and wife."

"We're speaking right now," she replied, deadpanned. "Isn't that enough of a unity?"

He laughed, voice bouncing off the walls. The sound sent a shiver down her spine. Whatever handsomeness that was left of him surely went out the window this time.

"No, no," Nick said with a shake of his head. "By uniting, we must be married."

Iris felt like her entire head was going to explode off her body.

" _MARRIED_?!" She screeched, practically spitting in his face. Nick leaned away for a short moment. "I ... I ... I don't even have a boyfriend! At least ... I _think_ I don't. It's been complicated."

"Perfect, then! Now there won't be any problems when we have the ceremony."

Iris shook her head. "No, no, no. I am _not_ marrying you. I have to leave, get back to my job, and ... well, get back to my fucking life! _No way_ am I doing that!"

"A marriage is the only way that the reuniting will be complete, Iris," Nick rationalized. "And then, finally –"

"– A new world will arise at our hands. Yeah, yeah, I got it."

"So will you do it?"

Iris bit her lip. She seriously felt like she was going puke this time. This had to be one of the worst situations of her life. Not even Dick yelling at her in front of the whole office felt this bad. What other choice did she have _but_ to marry this guy? There was no way out. She had no weapon, no energy to burn her way out. This place was definitely under lock and key, and her room was soundproof.

She was completely _fucked_. And not in the good way.

"Perhaps, I should give you some extra time to think about it."

He got to his feet and turned on the end of his heel, walking back into the darkness. He was heading for the door. He was going to leave her alone again for a couple more hours – maybe even _days_. Iris needed to get out of here, _and fast_. This marriage ... it could be the only way, and even then, would she ever really be free again?

"Wait."

She was surprised at her own voice. Nick spun back around, lacing his hands together, and walked back into the edge of the light. Iris could only see half of his face.

"Yes?" He asked, hopeful.

Her throat was closing up. The world felt like it was spinning. If she didn't speak now –

"I'll do it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE ARE ALMOST AT THE CLIMAX NOW FOLKS!!!! hate to say it but ... we might only have like 4 chapters left 🤭
> 
> I don't know if I'm completely overthinking this, but I just want to make clear that I'm weaving together Aztec folklore and myths with the plot of this story. I really fell in love with Aztec folklore and myths in college and wanted to explore it within this story. The traditions that Nick speaks of in this (the unity, all the jewelry that bear gifts), they're not necessarily part of Aztec folklore. The Aztecs believed in some stones/minerals/materials having gifts, but not as specific as a turquoise necklace giving them the powers of a great goddess. 
> 
> Basically, since I've only studied Aztec myths and legends, I just don't want to offend anyone. But I don't know if this is just me and my anxiety overthinking things lol. I also wove in this folklore with my own plot to show how ancient traditions/folklore cannot always translate into the real world with a selfish man at the head of them. This will all be evident real soon!
> 
> ANYWAYS I hope all of this made sense and you guys enjoyed the chapter!


	21. PRECAUTIONS

#### CHAPTER TWENTY

##### PRECAUTIONS

#####  **__________________________**

**THE** one good thing about being captured by the Coatls, Iris realized, was that they fed her on a schedule. They didn't keep her malnourished or dehydrated – just enough so that she was a functioning person chained to a sofa. (If that was even possible.) She still didn't have enough energy though, and maybe that was their intention. Iris didn't doubt that they had the same inkling she did: the more energy she gained, the easier it would be for her to burn off the chain. She tried once or twice, after she ate her big dinner they supplied every night at five, but it was a waste of time. She didn't have enough strength.

Iris had been there for almost a week. At least, she was _pretty sure_ it was a week. It could've been just a few days. Time moved so differently when you were stationed to a couch. She watched the History channel on repeat. The sleep she was getting was mediocre, but definitely not any better than she got in her own bed. This sofa became quite comfortable after a while, except it sucked to find a position when one of your hands was literally _chained_ to the arm of the sofa.

She saw Nick every night. He liked to have dinner with her so they could talk and strengthen their "bond," whatever that was. It did nothing on her end. He hardly talked; he only wanted to hear about _her_. In a way, that should've been a good thing. Most guys loved to talk about themselves, but Nick wanted to know more and more about her life. It would've been a nice gesture if he wasn't holding her hostage.

_Dick Grayson also didn't like talking about himself._

Fuck, and here she was thinking that she was getting over him. She had to, seeing as she was forcibly getting married to her cult-leader-captor. (Much to her own dismay, might I add.) It wasn't like she had much to get over anyway. They weren't dating; it was just a mere _fling_.

Then _why_ couldn't she stop the tears that pricked at her eyes and the painful beat of her heart when she thought of him?

God, fuck _again_! It wasn't the time to be crying. She needed to figure a way out and _fast_ , but that was becoming increasingly hard when they brought in a tailor that Thursday evening. She was being fitted into her _wedding dress_. Iris wanted to throw up once she held the catastrophe of lace and tool.

The dress tailor's name was Miguel, and he was a man gosh darn proud of his work, even if he did serve some wack job in a cult. Iris also learned that the man that visited her when she had first woken up was named Jasper, and he came to hand her food and water almost every day. Jasper helped figure out a way for Iris to stand during the tailoring while still being bound to the couch. They had to unravel the chain a little bit so she could get up on Miguel's stool, and Iris took a moment to remind them how utterly ridiculous it was that she was still chained in the first place.

" _Please_ ," Miguel huffed, sitting below her, "no complaining while I work."

Iris rolled her eyes. Jasper leaned a full-length mirror against the back of the sofa. She looked at herself in the reflection, swallowing hard at the sight of the hideous dress and its implications. It was a pale turquoise color – to match her necklace, she presumed – and was fitted almost exactly to her body type. All Miguel really had to do was tailor the bottom. The top almost had a full lace bodice, while the skirt was frilly with tool and ruffles. It looked revolting, but she really didn't have much of a choice.

Jasper waited patiently as Miguel did his magic. Iris peered over at him, watching his foot tap lightly against the concrete floor. He sat on the arm of the sofa, right on top of the chain, and looked off into the darkness of the room. She clicked her tongue, but he didn't budge. Jasper wasn't an idiot, but he was stupid enough to help her figure out a plan without knowing it. She just needed to get him to talk to him more, and maybe – _just maybe_ – an idea would pop into her brain.

"Hey, Jasper," Iris muttered, finally gaining his attention. His long, dark curls whipped across his face as he turned. "Can you answer a question for me?"

He kept his mouth formed into a tight line. "I can't talk to you about Coatl business."

"Well, don't assume I'm going to ask about that in the first place."

Jasper raised a brow.

"Okay, whatever. I have another question," she sighed, and he casually strode forward. "What if someone comes looking for me? Does anyone have a plan then?"

"You're in a warehouse in the middle of a port town. Nick is sure no one will find you."

Iris tilted her head to the side. "How can he be _sure_ of that?"

"Nick has looked into you. You live far enough away from your parents and don't speak to them. You don't have a significant other. Most of your coworkers dislike you and wouldn't bat an eyelash if you went missing."

"I work at a _police station_. They'll be onto something if I'm gone any longer. The Chief's probably been blowing up my phone while I don't have a signal."

Jasper narrowed his eyes. " _Again_ , they all dislike you. Wouldn't be so sure about that."

Iris' jaw shifted. "And how did you find out all this info anyways?"

He looked away for a moment. "Nick has his ways."

"Oh, _does he_?" She hummed, smoothing out the lines in her skirt. "I still think someone's gonna be _suspicious_."

"No, they're not."

"I think you're wrong."

" _You're wrong_."

"I'm _right_."

Jasper wound his fists into his hair and stomped. "NO ONE IS GOING TO BE SUSPICIOUS! NO ONE IS COMING HERE!"

"HEY!" Miguel finally cut in. "No screaming while I work!"

"Yeah," Iris agreed, casting Jasper a glance, "no screaming while he works."

Jasper scoffed before sitting back down on the arm of the sofa. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for his heart to stop beating so quickly. Iris licked her lips. That hadn't gone as well as she hoped. At least, she had gotten under his skin a little.

Maybe ... she made a good point about the Chief blowing up her phone, or just _anyone_ calling her. (Even Dick, if he didn't still hate her.) This warehouse had no signal, but once her phone hit the open air, a flood of messages could come through. Her signal would be broadcasted, indicating her location. Perhaps then someone would be able to track her location. Someone like Dick Grayson.

Iris turned to Jasper once again, a smile curling at the edges of her lips. "You might be right, Jasper," she said calmly, "but I still think you all should be taking every precaution so that no one finds me."

"Why do _you_ care?" He spat. "I thought you wanted to get out of here."

She had to swallow down every hint of malice on her tongue as she replied, "Nick has ... opened my eyes. I'm ready to marry him."

"Good. Now, this dress won't be for nothing," Miguel added.

Jasper's brows knitted together before he eyed her again. Getting to his feet, he walked over to where she stood on the small stool. "What kind of precautions are you thinking about?"

"You need to calm everyone's nerves and tell them I'm okay," she said, hiking up her skirt the tiniest bit and pulling her phone from her jean pocket, "with _this_."

He looked like he was contemplating what to say, but nothing smart came to mind. After a moment of hesitation, he took the phone from her hand.

"Go outside and text all my contacts something like, _I'm going away for a long time. I need my space. No one come looking for me. I'm okay._ You know, that kinda bullshit."

Jasper bit onto his bottom lip. "And you're _sure_ that'll work?"

Iris took in a large breath of air. "Positive."

With a nod, Jasper left the room and headed outside. This was it. This had to be the way out. Once her phone had signal, once that text was sent – something _had_ to happen. Please, _dear God_ , let someone come find her. Dick could hopefully track her location from the text. He knew her better than that. He knew that she liked to ignore problems better than confront them. She would _never_ send a text like that.

Hopefully, he forgave her at this point. If he didn't ... she could say goodbye to the life she once knew.

Iris felt a pair of eyes on her. Looking down, she spotted Miguel narrowing his stare, but he viewed away once their eyes met. Her expression twisted. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing," he quipped, fluffing out the skirt. "Just ... whatever you're planning, don't ruin this dress."

She cackled under her breath, but said nothing in response. _No promises_.

The entrance swung open and Jasper walked into the room with a big grin. The door locked itself just as swiftly. "Done," he announced, tossing her phone back into her hands. Iris was quick enough to catch it. "Message sent."

"Great," she replied and shoved the phone into its rightful pocket. _Back to having no signal again._

Jasper took his seat back on the sofa's arm. "I'm sure Nick will be pleased to hear that you're willing to go along with this unity. The ceremony is going to be _fantastic_."

"Lovely," Iris feigned a smile. Jasper sent her a grin back, but his was definitely more sincere. Fumbling with her rings, she asked, "Speaking of that ceremony, when's it going to be anyway?"

He looked down and inspected his cuticles. "If everything goes to plan ..." His head shot up. "Tomorrow night."

Iris blinked. " _TOMORROW_?!"

"Yeah, _tomorrow_ ," he repeated, confusion written across his face. "What – do you have to be somewhere?"

"But – but –" She shook her head. "Don't you guys have to organizea ceremony? Invite guests? There's a reason _why_ weddings take more than a few months to plan!"

Miguel tugged on the skirt. "Hey, hey, no screaming, _remember_?"

Jasper cackled, and although he probably didn't mean it in a bad way, the sound still made her shiver. "What do you think we've been doing this whole time? Nick doesn't want anything special. Just a nice ceremony here with all of our friends. We have all the decorations, a Justice of the Peace ... You now have your dress and Nick is picking up his suit and robes in the morning. Everything is set."

Iris' teeth began to chatter. She wasn't even cold, just totally and completely _afraid_. If the ceremony was happening tomorrow night ... would Dick still have time to find her? Would _anyone_ be able to come to her rescue? It wasn't like her _one_ defense mechanism wasn't working anyway, and she couldn't do much chained to a couch. She needed to eat more, get herself energized, and maybe _then_ she had a shot at escaping.

On the other hand ... she was in the middle of nowhere. Port Austin, to be exact, at least three hours away from Detroit. If Dick was able to find her, the travel could be doable – that's if she was found in time – and at this point, that was seeming very unlikely. If she was able to get away, she was also kinda fucked. She might as well start going by Iris Patli.

 _Fuck, fuck, FUCK_. How in the hell was she going to get out of this one?

But what she didn't know was that during a stressful rush hour, Dick Grayson sat in his little, silver Porsche, trying to move through a traffic jam and get back home. His phone had gone off, and while Dick wasn't the type of guy to look at his phone while driving, something about this felt urgent. So he reached over, plucked his phone from the cup holder, and watched a message flash across the screen.

 **IRIS KINGSLEY:** _I'm going away for a while. Don't come looking for me. I'm totally fine. Just need my space._

Dick looked up from the screen, pushing through the traffic, but repeated the words over and over in his head. Something was wrong, _very wrong_. They hadn't spoken for days and she sends something like _that_? It wasn't normal of her, and seemed like a message she'd send to all her contacts. His hands began to sweat, and the phone slipped back into the cupholder. Dick didn't know what to do. His thoughts ran a mile around his head, wondering what _exactly_ made him look at that message in the first place. She was in danger, and Dick needed to find her before it was too late.

With ragged breaths, he picked up the phone again and rang his first number on speed dial. (Regretfully so.) The receiver picked up immediately, a feeble, shaky voice answering on the other end, "Whom am I speaking to?"

"Alfred, it's Dick. I need you to send me a ZIP file of Bruce's location software that I can download. It's urgent."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So!!!! I actually I managed to take some time for myself and had a small writing hiatus. Not a long one – just a little over a week – which was why it took me so long to post this update. Although I was mostly relaxing and trying to take my mind off of writing, I might've.................finished the epilogue of this story and complete the prewriting process. (I really don't know how to take a writing hiatus. 🥴) There are still a few more chapters to post until the end 🥺
> 
> I know that I absolutely SUCK with endings. (Literally, I've never been able to end a story in a way that makes sense, like........ever.) but I think this ending will be something you all enjoy and MIGHT also leave an opening to pick up these characters again in the future. It depends on how I feel, but I wrote this specific ending for a reason, and I think y'all will like it too!! (Hopefully. I suck at epilogues!!)
> 
> Even if I don't revisit this story in the future, Iris Kingsley and Dick Grayson are NOT❗️going away. I 100% plan on writing a fic for Rob Pattinson's Batman that will SOMEHOW – trust me, I have a plan – feature Iris and Dick. 🤭


	22. THE NEW WORLD

#### CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

##### THE NEW WORLD

#####  **__________________________**

**IRIS** was fully and completely on edge.

She couldn't believe she was going through with this. She couldn't believe she even _agreed_ to this, but her life was suddenly on the line and she had no idea what would've happened if she kept denying Nick's offer. So here she was, pacing around in a fucking _turquoise blue_ wedding dress, all the while her necklace kept flashing on and off with each beat of her fast-racing heart.

Iris tore through almost a dozen bread rolls that had been offered to her. Jasper had brought in a whole basket full, like they were in an Olive Garden or something, and Iris was surprised she hadn't popped out of her dress yet from everything she'd eaten. She downed almost a whole pitcher of water, which caused her to pee at least six times before the ceremony. Iris did anything and everything to get her energy up. She didn't know what this ceremony would hold for her and wanted to be prepared for anything. Hopefully, her lights would be working if she needed them, but judging on the past couple of days, she couldn't be too sure.

She fiddled with her hair, strands flying wildly across her face. A woman named Atla had come in to do her hair and makeup. She brushed the tangles out and left her hair hanging loose against her back with a small crown placed at the top of her head. Her makeup, however, was anything but simple. Atla said she wanted to combine ancestral tradition with modern elements. While it was customary in some traditions to decorate a woman's arms and legs with red feathers, Atla decided that might be a bit uncomfortable. She let the dark red robe covering Iris' shoulders speak for itself. She then placed small, shimmering crystals and stones around her eyes and cheeks, and painted her eyelids a sheer blue. While Iris was still on edge, something about Atla had been so calming.

Jasper was currently sticking his head outside the door to her room, peering at the crowd of Coatl members taking their seats. He spotted his girlfriend, Talia, waiting for him near the front, and he waved to her before closing the door. Spinning around on his heel, he approached a distressed Iris with a pair of handcuffs in his hands. "Okay," he breathed, "the ceremony is about to start. Why are you pacing so much?"

Iris furrowed her brow. Was it really not obvious? For Christ's sake, she was marrying a guy she hardly even knew for some cult tradition!

She wanted to scream. She wanted to yell such horrible obscenities at Jasper, but knew it wouldn't do anything. Instead, she smiled softly and said through clenched teeth, "I'm _fine_."

"Alright, alright. Yeah, me too." He looked over his shoulder at the door.

Iris followed his stare and lifted a brow. "Are _you_ okay?"

"Me? Oh, yeah. Yes! Totally." His fake smile faded to an expression of panic, and suddenly, his eyes went wide with unease. "Actually, I don't know. This is just a really big day and we don't know what the future holds once you two are united. I mean, you guys would be making a new world, right? This could either go two ways: you two rejoice with us as your loyal followers, or you kill us all as the start of the new world as we know it. Like, _boom_! We're nothing but ash. I hope that doesn't happen, honestly. I don't know if I'm ready to die, you know? I hope –"

She held up a hand. "Wait, wait, wait. How do you know that will happen?"

"Because," he shrugged, "Nick told us either scenario could happen once the ceremony ended. The universe will decide our fate."

Iris leaned back. He was going to kill all his followers. There was _no way_ this was ending with anyone getting out unscathed. _Holy, fucking SHIT_. If this was all real, if them being married would enhance their powers – he was going to kill _everybody_ in his wake, even those loyal to him. Iris hadn't just agreed to marry a stranger. She was marrying a complete _psychopath_.

"Who knows, though, _right_?" Jasper laughed nervously as someone knocked on the door. "That's our cue. The ceremony has begun. Are you ready?"

She bit the inside of her cheek. "I mean –"

He then held up the pair of handcuffs. "Gotta put you in these first. Hope you don't mind."

Iris frowned, swinging around her hand that was still chained to the sofa. "I think I'm used to it by now."

Jasper flipped her arm over and unlocked the chain with a key that usually hung on his pants. Iris deadpanned. If she had known this whole time that he had a key to unchain her right on his hip, she would've been out of here _days ago_. The chain fell directly at her feet. She was finally _free_ – for a moment, that is. It felt like she hadn't tasted freedom for an eternity, but it was taken away just as quickly. Jasper secured the new handcuffs on her wrists and looked up at her with a smile.

He ran towards the door and swung it open, beckoning her forward. Iris clenched and unclenched her hands as she approached him. Jasper offered her his arm and with a wavering frown, she took it, allowing him to lead her out.

This was the first time she had been out of her room in a week and a half, but it still wasn't freeing. She was allowed outside to sell herself over to someone else. _And_ she was still handcuffed. What a twisted way of freedom.

Apparently, they decided having the ceremony inside their warehouse was a fun and new way to host a wedding. They did the best they could, she justified, given the circumstances. Turquoise stones hung from the rafters and all around them, while small candles were arranged along the floor. A metal bin was placed before the Justice of the Peace with a fire blazing out of it, which Iris could only guess served as a sort of hearth. Nick waited right by the Justice of the Peace, grinning, and his followers sat in tiny rows before him, all adorning the same turquoise necklace.

For an occasion that seemed rooted in tradition, there was something so _modern_ about this wedding. Like Atla had done, it looked like they were mixing the old and new. Iris highly doubted a Justice of the Peace married couples during the times of the Aztec gods and goddesses. There were people in the crowd of different sizes, colors, genders, even those that didn't believe in this ancestral calling. They believe in Nick and his promises. They were all following one leader who wanted to be the god from stories he learned as a child and he was willing to give everything up for it, including his loyal members.

Jasper sent Iris a shit-eating grin as he handed her off to Nick, who brought both of them towards the Justice of the Peace. They stood in front of the metal hearth, and Iris watched the flames flutter into the air before turning to look at the crowd. All strangers, watching her being married off to _another_ stranger. Wasn't your wedding day supposed to be the biggest day of your life? Instead, she was stuck in a blue dress and she didn't have her mom crying in the audience. Not even her Aunt Maeve that she always wanted to meet. No family, only _strangers_. It was so abnormal.

Where _the fuck_ was Dick when she needed him? Had nobody found her text suspicious at all? Maybe Jasper hadn't even sent it.

"Friends," the officer began, startling Iris. Her necklace flashed rapidly when Nick took her hands in his own. "We are joined here today to share with Nicholas Raphael Patli and Iris –"

The Justice of the Peace cleared his throat, glancing her way. Iris narrowed her eyes. "Iris Anna Kingsley," she corrected.

He nodded. "Ah, yes," he cleared his throat once more. "We are here to share with Nicholas Raphael Patli and Iris _Anna Kingsley_ –" He smiled in her direction. She didn't. "– An important moment in their lives, and a very important moment in our _own_ lives. Today, they have decided to live out the rest of their lives as one and be united for us all to see. At their uniting, they will blossom a new world from their own very hands. We are witnessing not just a bond today, but a _rebirth_. We shall walk the earth with gods once again."

Iris' face twisted. Was the fucking officer in on it _too_?

"Now is the time that I may ask," he continued, "who here supports this couple in their marriage?"

Iris frowned, looking to the crowd, "Well –"

Her voice went dead once she saw that every hand in the audience was _raised_. From what she knew of the few weddings she'd attended, this was where the father or someone important gave the bride away, but the Coatls were conducting this in terms of support, rather than with family members. Iris closed her eyes for a moment. Could this night get any worse?

"Excellent," the officer hummed and clasped his hands together. "It is foretold that once the reincarnations of the Fire God and Water Goddess are joined once again, they will have the power to give us everything we've ever wanted. We welcome this new life with open arms, as well as their marriage. The time of the gods is upon us, and we will not cower away."

Nick smirked, and his eyes softened as he glanced at the Justice of the Peace. The officer sighed happily and reached over the fire to place a hand on top of their conjoined grips. "A joining like this – a _love_ like this – is going to shake the earth forever. The world is not prepared for a Coatl future, but they will be. I know these two are going to make a great one."

_Yeah, right after Nick kills everyone when the ceremony is over_ , she thought to herself.

Wiping the perspiration off his brow, the officer removed his hand and breathed out a heavy sigh. Nick turned to Iris again, and just his stare made her whole body shake. And not in a good way, _either_. It was in a way that chilled her to the bone, that made her terrified for what came next. She really didn't want to have to witness the end of this ceremony. She _had_ to do something. But _what_? Did she have the strength to burn away these cuffs?

"I shouldn't have to say this next part, but for tradition purposes ..." The officer wrinkled his nose. "If either of you or anyone else present knows any just cause why this unity should not take place, I ask that you make it known at this time or remain silent."

Iris couldn't breathe. She didn't even want to look out into the crowd. It wasn't like anyone was going to help her anyway. She just kept staring into Nick's black eyes, watching the way his lips pulled into a wicked smirk, and how his hands squeezed her own so tightly that she began to sweat. This couldn't be happening. Everyone was going to die. This was all a sham. She had to do _something_ or –

"Wonderful. No objections." The officer released a soft sigh of relief. "Now, Nicholas, I need you to please tie your cape to your bride's skirt before the vows –"

A grunt echoed outside the warehouse walls, and then an alarming screech. The big exit doors flew open. Everyone turned in their seat, but Iris couldn't make herself move.

"I object, sir."

Wait a _goddamn_ minute.

Iris Kingsley knew that voice. She would know his tone anywhere. With wide eyes, she turned to the end of the make-shift aisle, where _he_ waited with two unconscious men hanging from his gloved fingertips.

Dick _mother fucking_ Grayson, dressed head-to-toe in full Robin armor, blood and grime coating his suit. He always knew how to surprise her at the worst moments.

Nick unlatched his hands from Iris' almost immediately and glared towards Dick. "What is the meaning of this?" He looked around at the stunned crowd. "How _the fuck_ did _Robin_ get in?"

"Obviously, I came here to object to the wedding," Dick smirked, revealing the tiniest bit of teeth. "You see ... I think I fucked your fiancé."

Iris grinned bigger than ever before.

And then her hands started to glow.

The lights seared through her handcuffs almost instantly and dropped to the floor. Iris looked to Dick before finally meeting Nick's bewildered stare. She plucked the crown from her hairline and tossed it to Jasper's girlfriend in the front row. "You know what I think?" She continued, taking one step towards Nick. "I think this wedding is over."

Nick exclaimed, "SEIZE THEM BOTH –"

But then he was cut off by Iris' fist pounding into his chest.

A war erupted then. Dozens of Nick's guards burst through the epicenter of the warehouse, running right for Dick. The crowd began to flee, except for a few loyal members that lunged for Dick head-on. Iris didn't have time to worry about the rest of them. Nick fell into the Justice of the Peace as he tried running away. They both toppled over, but only Nick was able to get to his feet. He dove towards Iris, reaching behind her head and grabbing the root of her hair. She released a yelp, but wouldn't give him the satisfaction of screaming her ass off, no matter how much it hurt.

"You _will_ let this ceremony happen," he seethed in her ear, "and you _will_ marry me. Your little superhero friend cannot save you. There is no way out of this fate."

"Yeah, there is, _asshole_." Iris lifted her glowing hand. "Ever heard of cheating fate?"

Her hand smacked down on his arm, burning him instantly. Nick screamed and retracted his hold, looking down at the sizzling flesh. He was distracted. She had a moment to strike. Iris grabbed him by the collar and shoved her foot into his gut. He slid across the floor.

She plopped herself on top of him, sending her fist into his face several times. Nick chuckled as blood leaked from his nose, which just made her anger skyrocket. Iris held his arms down as he tried to lift them. Small flames erupted at his fingertips, but they fizzled out immediately.

Her necklace burned against her chest and her glowing blue eyes were so hypnotic that Nick couldn't look away. Hovering one of the lights over his cheek, Iris watched the skin slowly sizzle away. "You were going to kill everyone here, _weren't you_?" Nick laughed at her question. Iris tugged on his hairline and punched his head into the floor. "ANSWER THE QUESTION!"

"What if I _was_? They are willing to die for me." He grunted, licking at the blood that reached his lips. "Why does it matter when the end result is a new world – one built for _us_ , by the Old Gods of the earth?"

"You're _sick_ ," she hissed. "The only one who deserves to die is you, asswipe."

Nick snickered and rolled his head to the side. "You can't kill me." His eyes flickered towards her. "I'm going to be a god."

Iris allowed a twisted smile to play at her lips. "But not yet, unfortunately."

She pressed her hand to his cheek. He began to shriek as every inch of his flesh scorched at her touch. Iris' lips curled with satisfaction. Nick's scream echoed in her ears, bouncing off the walls. She lifted her hand the slightest bit, hovering her palm over his eye, and watched as his irises soaking in the piercing, blue light. Nick convulsed underneath her, but Iris was strong enough to hold him down.

"Iris!"

She swung her head in Dick's direction and noticed the sea of bodies pooled around his feet. He was currently fighting off two of Nick's biggest guards. Both were each a foot above Dick's height, and larger than most men she'd ever seen. Iris lightly lifted herself off Nick's chest, still holding him down, but giving the leader a spare moment to breathe and clear his fogging head. Her palm waivered ever so slightly as she watched Dick send one guard to the floor with his bo-staff.

"I could use a little help over here!" He cried out.

"Just one sec," Iris muttered, turning back to Nick. What she had expected to see was a blind and unconscious Nick laying underneath her weight. But she was completely blindsided, and nothing – not even Dick – could stop what came next.

When her eyes met Nick's again, he was sitting up, using his two elbows for support. His stare was foggy, but that didn't make him any less resilient. Iris opened her mouth to say something, and then moved back. She wasn't quick enough. Before she could utter a single word, Nick shoved her off, causing Iris to bump the back of her head on the floor.

She groaned at the hard impact. They switched sides. Nick quickly placed himself on her chest, and suddenly, Iris could hardly breathe. He held down one of her arms when she tried to burn him again, and then took her other hand with a sick smile on his face. Iris screamed, but it was too late. As Dick turned around at the sound of her voice, Nick already had her palm raised over her right eye and began to blind her.

Dick tried running forward, but he was pulled back by the guard who just _wouldn't_ quit. Iris fought against Nick's hold. She tried pushing him off. She tried wiggling out of his grip. But the seconds were ticking on by, and her vision was getting hazy. The light was sucking everything out of her. Her breathing became more and more heavy, but she needed to fight it. She needed to _get him off_.

Mustering all the strength left in her body, Iris closed her eyes and hauled herself up, breaking from his powerful grasp. "You _fucking_ asshole!" She hollered, voice strained, while latching her hands around his neck.

Nick choked, but Iris got no satisfaction as she realized how unclear her right eye was. She couldn't _see_ outof it anymore. A tear slipped down her cheek. She allowed the moment of vulnerability to consume her, and maybe that was her worst mistake of all. Her grip loosened. She started to fully break down. Sobs racked her whole body, and soon enough, her hands fell limp at her sides. The lights flickered. Nick heaved, but he was still alert. He wouldn't let this moment get away.

As Iris cried, looking around at the innocent, unconscious bodies around her, she let herself become completely defenseless. Nick then wound his hands into her hair and snapped his neck forward, striking his forehead against her own.

The last thing Iris saw was Dick rushing towards her as her vision went entirely black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT WAS A ROLLERCOASTER. ONLY ONE CHAPTER AND AN EPILOGUE LEFT, FOLKS!!! I'm so sad and I don't wanna let Iris and Dick go, but I really love their ending and it leaves some room open to continue this into the plot of the actual show (if I wanted to).


	23. HOME

#### CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

##### HOME

#####  **__________________________**

**SHE** felt like complete shit.

Iris groaned quietly, rubbing at her closed eyelids as she stirred from her deep sleep. Her head was pounding, but it wasn't the kind of deadly ache that she received from a hangover. This one was much deeper, throbbing against her temples, as if her face had collided into something hard several times.

It all came back in flashes then. She felt Nick's hands in her hair. She remembered the tears that stained her cheeks. She could see Nick leaning his head back and then – _smash_. Everything had gone dark.

Iris lifted her hand slightly, feeling the tug of an IV in her arm, but she still didn't have the strength to open her eyes. Her fingers lingered on her jaw, where she felt a blossoming bruise, before touching the bandage on the bridge of her nose. She could see the bright light of her necklace pulsing even through her closed eyelids.

She fluttered her eyes open, and it felt like it was the first time she had woken up in years. Everything around her eyes felt crusty, and her perception was blurred. She turned and saw Dick sleeping in a chair beside her hospital bed. That's when she realized that half of her vision was fully black. Iris blinked a few times to adjust her eyes to the room, but one eye was remained fuzzy. No matter how many times she closed and opened her eyes, one was clear while the other was not.

Iris laid a hand over her blurry eye. How could she have forgotten? Nick had _blinded_ her with her own powers. He used her only defense against her body and now, she was left blind in one eye. She didn't want to think about what would've happened if he blinded her completely. Iris bit her lip to stop herself from crying, but it was hard when suddenly everything in your life was fucked over.

To most people, being blind in one eye wasn't that bad. Some might even say that she was being dramatic, that her life would be _fine_. But no one would understand the trauma of a man using your own body against you, or how it felt to have your defenses stripped away in a containment center. They wouldn't understand that she could no longer do what she loved. The police agency would never keep her on as a detective if she was blind. She would be demoted to a dispatcher, if she was lucky.

Nothing was the same now. Iris felt tears prick at her eyelashes before she finally let them go freely. She choked on a sob spilling from her mouth, and placed her arm over her lips to see if that would make it quieter. But nothing could drown her out. She wished she had never gotten this stupid necklace. She wished she never decided to take up that robbery case on her own. This all fucked up her life and now she could never go back to how it used to be. Iris Kingsley was _broken_.

Dick finally stirred at the sound of her cries, eyes opening with a flash. He shook his head to wake himself up, but as soon as their eyes met, he was jumping out of his chair. "Holy shit," Dick whispered, sitting on the end of her bed. He reached out and moved her hand off her mouth, frowning at her tear-filled stare. "I'm so glad you're awake, Kingsley."

She bit into her bottom lip. Looking to the side, Iris watched the IV drip some kind of fluid into her arm. She huffed, stretching to rip out the IV, but Dick placed a hand on top of her own before she could try. His grip was warm and calloused, while hers was so cold. Their fingers locked together, and the last thing Iris wanted was for him to let go.

"What happened?" She exhaled heavily. "Where are the Coatls? Nick –"

Dick looked away. "We did everything we could. The rest of the Coatls were innocent people caught up in a messy situation, but I still had brought them to the police for questioning. And Nick ..." He shook his head. "Nick got away."

Iris unlocked her hands from Dick's to wipe away her own tears. Dick's face softened, brows knitting together with worry, and he watched her fiddle with the IV needle. She sniffled loudly and rubbed at her nose.

"Iris," he murmured, "why are you crying? You're safe –"

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you _serious_?" She asked, raising her hands to gesture around the room. "Look at _me_ , Dick! I'm in a hospital. I'm injured." Iris pulled down on her right eyelid, revealing the cloudy iris. "I can only see out of one _goddamn_ eye. I'm crying because I'm _sad_ and I don't know if this is ever gonna get better."

"You're still alive."

She snorted and wiped away a few stray tears. "Just barely."

The room was engulfed in silence. Dick clamped his mouth shut and looked at his feet. Iris didn't want to meet his eyes, to see the hurt in them once again. She was always hurting him because of her own stupid issues. It was tiring – _she_ was _tired_ – and this whole experience just showed her how much more exhausting life was going to get. He still hadn't walked away from her, though. Even when he promised he would, it never stuck. They were like magnets – always close, never being able to stay apart.

"I should probably ..." She trailed off, pausing to gather her thoughts. "... Text my mom back, and other people. That text you used to track my location was sent by one of the Coatls, and my mom is definitely freaking out."

Dick pursed his lips before replying, "It can wait."

Iris turned her head to face him. He glanced up, and brown met grey once again. "I'm sorry for how I've treated you, Dick."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry for –"

"I know interrupting you is contradictory to my last statement," she added, "but let me finish. You'll _never_ hear me apologize like this again."

Dick chuckled under his breath. He moved closer and laced her hands with his. Iris hummed at his touch, gripping him tighter than ever before.

"I was ... _such_ an asshole to you," she began, lips pulling into a frown. "But the truth is I ... I didn't want to let you in because that would make my feelings even more real. And I didn't want them to be there in the first place." Iris sniffled again, and Dick laid his palm on top of their conjoined hands. "You are a fucking _dick_ sometimes –"

He smirked, "It really never gets old."

Iris giggled, tears gathering at her lash line once again. She hesitated and licked at her dry lips. "But ... but you're also the kindest, bravest, most special person I have ever met. And I feel so lucky that the universe decided to let me meet you."

Dick smiled softly.

"Thank you," she finished, "for being my hero, and showing me how to become one."

Sliding closer to her bedside, Dick leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead. After what he said to her at the office – which she knew she deserved – Iris thought she might never get to feel one of his kisses again. She fucked up, but that's what makes us human, and humans forgive other humans when they were trying to do good all along.

Dick slid his hand out of her hold to grasp her cheeks, thumbs caressing the dried tears away. He leaned back the tiniest bit, meeting her dark stare. Her eyes fluttered. They were so close that their lashes were brushing. His lips grazed her own, just enough to make her want more, to have her say, "Any day now, Grayson."

With a wide grin, Dick captured her mouth in his own, pressing his lips against hers hard. Iris melted into his embrace, allowing herself to be completely vulnerable to Dick Grayson's affection, more than ever before. Their lips molded together as she reached up and wound her hands across his neck. But that became more complicated than it seemed, and Iris' IV yanked her arm back as soon as she lifted it. Dick looked up while she struggled with the IV chord, and found himself laughing against her mouth.

"It's not funny," she huffed, finally resting that arm on her side. "I always seem to ruin a perfect moment, huh?"

"I wasn't laughing at you," he replied, brushing a few stray hairs from her forehead. Iris arched a brow with suspicion. "I just ..."

She egged him on, "You just _what_?"

"I was laughing because I ..." He opened his mouth, struggling to get the words out. Dick sighed and shook his head. "I guess I just love you, Iris Kingsley."

Her expression went soft. Iris lifted her free hand, brushing her thumb across his lips. She felt her chest cave in as he waited for a response with bated breath. "I ..." She bit the inside of her cheek for a split second. "I guess I love you too, Dick Grayson."

He beamed, lips spreading into an infectious grin. Iris' chest hurt yet again, but it wasn't from the insane amount of love and affection he was giving her. Dick pressed his lips to hers one last time before she spoke again.

"Fuck," Iris muttered, closing her eyes. "That makes this decision so much harder."

Dick's brow furrowed.

 _Don't say it. Don't say it_ , her subconscious begged. _Don't ruin this again. Change will be good for you, but you finally have him back in your arms. You finally have_ him _. How can you just –_

Iris groaned loudly and wished for her conscience to _stop talking_ already. Her eyes opened and she took in his muddled expression. With a heavy exhale, Iris sat up with him and patted the bandage on the bridge of her nose.

"What is it?" He asked with a pleading look in his eyes.

She frowned. "I have to leave Detroit –"

" _What_?"

"– And start a new life," Iris continued, noticing his jaw shift. She lowered her head. "It's what I have to do. You can't tell me that you didn't see this coming after what just happened."

He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled heavily through his nose. It took all his strength just to hold the anger in. Last thing he wanted was to lash out at her when she was clearly upset. He fought the urge to cry. "But –"

"I need to get out of here, Dick." She chewed on her bottom lip. "You _have_ to understand that."

"Well, I don't," he quipped. "What ... what about your job? Your apartment? Your _whole life_ is here. In _Detroit_."

She shrugged. "I can get a new place anywhere. I can have Angeles recommend me to another station."

Their stares connected, and Iris played with her turquoise pendant anxiously. She looked down at it, watching the way it reflected even in the dimmest of lights. She wrapped her fingers around the stone and glanced back at Dick.

"My life is ... _so_ much different than it used to be. I just need to get out. I need to figure out how to navigate this new life on my own."

Dick rubbed at the end of his nose and viewed at the wall. "But you're _running away_ ," he said, voice rising as he whipped his head in her direction, one stern finger raised in the air. "You're running away when things get scary."

" _Sue me_ , Dick. I'm fucking scared! Do you even _see_ where we are right now?" She smacked her hands against the uncomfortable hospital cot. "I'm not like you. I was just kidnapped by a bunch of psychos who thought I was almost like the second coming of Christ. I'm half-blind. I can't just have that happen to me and get over it. _No way_. I need a fresh start."

Dick couldn't stop himself crying then. He let the sadness envelop him, and suddenly, tears were running down his cheekbones. Dick had spent so much of his life with thick skin, an impenetrable suit of armor that he was sure no one could crack. He kept his feelings to himself. He didn't engage with many people, especially because he didn't _like people_. He didn't want friends – except for Donna, of course – and he was never interested in pursuing anyone romantically.

But everything in Dick Grayson's life changed when Iris Kingsley walked into it. And for the first time, he had never been more grateful.

He wrapped his arms around her, and Iris didn't hesitate to bury herself in his embrace, lacing her fingers into his hair. The IV wheeled closer to her cot as she lifted her arms, but all Iris cared about was breathing in his scent and remembering this moment forever. She never wanted to leave his hold. It was warm, calming, and it felt like _home_.

Dick leaned back slightly, tracing circles on her cheekbones. He took in her battered expression and understood why this decision was so important. She had to leave. She needed to figure out life on her own – _without him_. As much as it killed him on the inside, Dick understood what had to be done. She was his family, his _team_ , but maybe it was time to find a new one.

"What about us?" He whispered against her lips.

Iris hummed as their noses brushed. Her eyes lifted, meeting his caramel-colored stare. "We'll find each other again, Bird Boy," she smirked. "I can promise you that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLLO!!!! So don't fret just yet. There's STILL an epilogue and I hope you'll all be happy with it! I'm so sad to see this story come to close, but I'm also grateful. This is the first story I've been happy with in a long time. (Probably since HUNGRY HEART??) I enjoyed writing it and I loved the characters so much 💘


	24. LUMINA

#### EPILOGUE

##### LUMINA

#####  **__________________________**

**WHEN** you tell someone you're moving to New York, they think of the blinking lights, rowdy crowds, constant traffic, and the list goes on. That's because they assume you're talking about New York City, and only a crazy person would do that. Iris Kingsley wasn't crazy, and decided to move to one of the many towns surrounded by the City that Never Sleeps: Delaware, New York.

It didn't take long to move out of Detroit and find a new place. Iris hadn't even planned on moving to the east coast, but Angeles assured her that her best bet at getting another police position was going somewhere small and remote, and she couldn't agree more. Delaware had a population of 2,670. How much more remote could you get?

"There's a lot of work down there, especially in Dutchess, Delaware, Sullivan," Angeles had explained while typing a recommendation email for her. "Your new ... uh – _affliction_ might make it a little hard, but there's always room to move up. In little towns like these, they tend to bend the rules if they like you. They might look over your half-blindness and promote you back up to Detective. For now, you might have to deal with being a dispatcher."

Iris rubbed at the one eye she couldn't see out of.

"But if you are promoted," Angeles continued, "and you earn a good reputation, don't accept any more outside offers. Gotham is right around there, and they need all the help they can get. Last thing you want is to work in Gotham."

She had bitten her nail down to the nub and flashed the Chief a quick smile. "Right, right."

Dick helped her pack up, but he wasn't present as she drove away in the big moving van, headed right for Delaware. He didn't know that the Delaware PD had offered her a dispatcher position immediately. He didn't know that she already had a place settled there. He didn't know _anything_ , and maybe that was a good thing. Dick Grayson didn't need their last memory to be a goodbye. He was only left with what little good times they shared together.

She was in a better place now. She – surprisingly – liked her new job. She liked her new apartment. She was getting used to the "being half-blind" thing. Everything was absolutely _great_. She didn't need anything else. But then ... Iris Kingsley got bored. And when she got bored, she tended to go off the rails. A part of her dignity was taken after the showdown with the Coatls, and she wanted it back. Between maintaining her job and having somewhat of a social life, Iris used her boredom for her own selfish desires.

Yes, she had wanted a new life, but it's hard to forget trauma when it's the only thing you see when you close your eyes at night, when you wake up screaming because you think your arm is still chained to a sofa. Ignorance is bliss ... but only for a little while, and Iris was going to make Nick Patli pay for what he did.

The last memory she had of Nick was watching him run off through one hazy eye. He escaped, but that didn't mean he was lost forever. When Dick had reported their fight with the Coatls, the case had become so big that it was sent to the FBI, meaning that all of Nick's information was filed into a worldwide database – _including_ all of his known locations. Although Iris wasn't a detective with the Delaware PD, she was granted access to that information. All it took was a little flirtation and _pretty please_ s to get the dumb Detective Archie to give her the password to his computer, and Iris compiled all the info she could get on Nick's whereabouts. While most people liked to relax and binge-watch on their day offs, Iris now spent her free time hunting down the man who once held her hostage.

It didn't take long to find him, although it felt like _years_ to Iris. In about three months, she was able to track him in Gotham, which was, weirdly enough, two hours away from her new home. He was trying to start up a new following within East End of Gotham City, and Iris was determined to get to him before he could get too powerful.

Iris traced him to Crime Alley, which seemed almost too good to be true. Their eyes had met, and she was greeted with that salacious smirk once again. Within seconds, they were tangled in each other's grips, trying to punch the living daylights out of each other. They were surrounded by a group of people, which Iris could only guess was his new batch of followers, but they didn't move to defend him. Instead, the group egged him on, screaming, "FINISH HER!" Little they all expect that she would get the upper hand.

Grabbing a hold of his right arm, Iris had twisted it back, eyeing the fire opal that was still sat delicately in his bracelet. With a rough tug, the bracelet split in two, and she whipped it across the alley, rendering him powerless. Iris finally placed her lit hand over his chest, burning his heart from the outside. She clenched her fingertips, curling them over his peck, until Nick stopped fighting. With one last cackle – like something you'd hear at the end of a horror movie – he fell limp on the ground.

Iris hardly had time to celebrate. The Gotham Police had shown up in no time, arresting both her and Nick's group of goons almost immediately. After just a few hours of her booking, Iris was sent to Gotham State Penitentiary and charged with first-degree murder and voluntary manslaughter. She was prepared for this fate and explained her reasoning in court, as well as her police badge. The jury of the Gotham City Courthouse had heard stories of this before – of a hero trying to exact revenge on the kidnapper – and they were _tired_. They weren't easily swayed when they were presented with Nick's autopsy results. He might've had a history of crime, but murder was _murder_ , and Iris suddenly knew that she wasn't leaving the penitentiary anytime soon.

How did life get so messed up like this? She once had a good life, a great job, a guy who _loved_ her ... and it all got fucked up once this necklace came into her world. On the other hand, she probably wouldn't have gotten to know Dick Grayson without the necklace. They would've never worked on the case together ... he would've never stayed over her apartment ... checked if she was okay ...

But she also wouldn't be _in jail_ too, and that fate kinda outweighed the good things.

Regardless, she was trying to make the best of the situation. There were many ways to escape, but maybe this was what she deserved. Her two roommates were quiet and had permanent frowns plastered on their faces. Iris learned early on that they had been sent here for killing the man who wrapped them into a sex trafficking ring when they were kids. They definitely weren't _that_ bad, and she was thankful. Iris liked to spend most days on her bed, speeding through whatever book Steven, a guard who roamed their wing often, loaned her for the week. Another inmate sold her a pack of American Spirits if she gave him her lunch every Thursday. She ate the mush that was served to her. She worked out three times a week at the gym. Iris was making the most out of it.

But that all came to a sudden end one fateful evening in June.

It was blistering hot. The small circular fan in front of her bed was the only thing keeping her alive. Iris tried to keep her attention on the ripped copy of Franz Kafka's _The Trial_ that was currently resting in her hands, but it was so _hard_ when she was hit with waves of humidity and scorching heat. Her roommates had left for the gym just over an hour ago, so she was left to bear this weather all on her own.

Turning to the wall on her right, Iris sighed at the tally marks she placed every night. The plaster was crumbling and taking off her hard work every day, but she still kept at it. Plucking the piece of chalk from her bedside, she drew one more tally mark on her calendar, completing a set of five. It had been two hundred and forty-three days since she came here. Only twenty-one more years left to go.

She bent over and threw the chalk back on her table, but it jumped off the surface before she could grab it. Iris raised a brow, hopping down her bed to pick it up again, and then noticed the entire building was _shaking_. Officers began to run by their cells, panic expressions on their faces. Iris approached the locked door and wrinkled her nose. She peered through the window, hand on the doorknob, and out of nowhere, the door became unlocked.

She stepped back and held her hands up, wondering if this was some kind of trap. Once the door swung open, she heard officers calling, "Evacuation! We're evacuating!"

Iris blinked, "Since when do jails have evacuations?" When in Gotham, she guessed.

Before she could take one step outside her cell, the wall at the end of her corridor exploded, leaving a huge, gaping hole in its wake. Crumbles of plaster flew through the air and skidded across the floor. Inmates and guards ran past her, coughing from the immediate smoke. Iris jumped back and held onto the doorframe. She couldn't find it in herself to move as the dust settled, and the last thing she expected to see was a familiar face.

Standing just a few feet from the explosion, dressed head-to-toe in a chiseled black and blue suit, was Dick _motherfucking_ Grayson. He was leaning against that infamous silver Porsche, twirling a crackling black baton in one hand and a smoke bomb in the other. Iris padded over to the large hole, eyes bugging out the second she recognized Dick. It had only been nine months since she last saw him, but she never realized how different a new suit would make him look. (If she were being honest, he looked even _better_ than before. While Iris was dressed in a dirty jumpsuit and covered in sweat, Dick looked like a carved Greek statue. She was practically frothing at the mouth.)

Glancing over her shoulder, Iris held her breath and stepped through the explosion. The cloud of smoke evaporated around her as she stood feet away from Dick, tilting her head to the side. "New look?" She asked, scanning him up and down.

Dick chuckled, "You could say that." He paused and eyed the Gotham State Penitentiary stamp on her clothing. "You were a bitch a find. The last thing I expected was to find you in _Gotham_ of all places. I'm surprised you never broke yourself out of here."

Iris shrugged. "I did some bad shit. Might as well do the time." She tucked a few strands of hair behind her ears, licking the edges of her lips. "I tracked Nick to Gotham and killed him. That's how I ended up here."

"Not anymore," Dick said, taking a cautious step towards her. "I need you."

"Isn't it like against your morals to break a prisoner out of jail?" Her brow shot up. "And I thought we agreed to spend time apart? You know, I go off and do my thing –"

"You _also_ said that we'd see each other again," he noted, holding up a finger, "which is _now_. Titans need you, Iris. _I_ need you."

She couldn't stop one side of her lips from curling. "Titans?" She whispered. Screams echoed from inside the prison. "Sounds like you've made something of yourself while I was gone."

"Don't try to change the subject." He approached her, wagging a finger in her face. Soon enough, they were inches from each other, chests practically touching, and Iris was pretty sure she could feel his heartbeat hammering through the armor on his torso. "I know you're tired of running away from your problems." His eyes flickered towards the chaos happening over her shoulder. "And according to the mob that should be coming this way, I would say that you have about ... two minutes to make a decision."

She smirked, and they're eyes met. The caramel color never ceased to make her feel all warm and gooey inside. "Is this you saying that you miss me, _Grayson_?"

Hesitantly, he raised a hand, running his fingertips over her cheek. Iris instinctively leaned into his hand, holding it there for as long as she was able. Dick grinned big and brushed his nose over hers. His breath fanned her cheeks. "Like hell," he muttered, and attached his lips to her own.

The kiss only lasted for a mere moment, but it was enough. Kissing Dick Grayson, no matter how short, felt like a lifetime. His touch was always burned her skin, just as much as her lights did to him. His embrace felt like home. Iris Kingsley was totally in love with a guy who twirled around electric batons and wore a spandex suit for a living, and that would never change.

Once he leaned back, Iris reached up and ran a hand through his dark hair. Arching a brow, she replied, "You make a mean proposition, Dick Grayson."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she was already unraveling herself from his hold, skipping over to the passenger side of his Porsche. He spun around to see her waiting by the door. "Well?" She asked, holding her hands up. "You said we only have two minutes. Are you coming?"

He smiled, "I guess so." Clicking the unlock button on his keys, Dick approached the Porsche and quickly whipped the driver's side open. Iris opened her own door, but found herself casually leaning against the frame with a quirking brow. Dick paused his movements when she asked, "So what do you call this new getup?"

"I don't know," he quipped, shrugging nonchalantly. "Nightwing has a nice ring to it."

Iris lifted her head towards the sky. The sun beat down on her skin heavily, already causing more sweat to appear on her hairline. She exhaled as the rays pulsed and called out to her power, almost reminding her of the light that came from her own hands. A smile made its way to her lips.

"Nightwing, huh?" She turned back to him with a smirk. "Then call me ... _Lumina_."  
  


**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so......that's the end! I can't tell y'all enough how much I've enjoyed writing this story. I'm really not good with writing slow burns, but this was one I definitely enjoyed. Probably because I fell so in love with Iris and Dick's dynamic, but I won't digress on them too much. Y'all have already read too much about them!
> 
> Thank you guys for supporting this story from the get-go. Venturing into a new fandom is never easy, but the DC and Titans community was so welcoming and that was super encouraging for me. Writing Iris was also very comforting. I've never really put a lot of myself into a character, but I actually did this time??? I wouldn't say she's a self-insert. (Especially, appearance-wise — I don't look like how I described her at all. And if you're not coming from Wattpad to read this, I pictured Iris to look like Margaret Qualley!) But some aspects of her life were based off mine. It felt cool to include them, because they almost made her more human.
> 
> And just to be clear, I left the ending kinda open-ended for a reason. Maybe I'll pick up these characters again in Season 3 of Titans! Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> (Link to original posting on Wattpad again: https://www.wattpad.com/story/201527728-bad-blood-%E2%94%81-dick-grayson)


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